


Touch or Carry

by Paintthebrain



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Beach Volleyball, But with bikinis and CLEXA, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Olympics, a slight tribute to the plot of the cutting edge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2018-08-09 00:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 50,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7779412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paintthebrain/pseuds/Paintthebrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Olympic Beach Volleyball AU</p><p>TOUCH<br/>təCH/<br/>verb<br/>1. be so near to (an object) as to be or come into contact with it.<br/>synonyms:close, contact, meet, join, connect 2. bring one's hand or another part of one's body into contact with. synonyms: tap, feel, stroke, fondle, caress, brush, graze 3. Be comparable to in quality or excellence. synonyms:compare, rival, compete, equal, match 4. handle in order to manipulate, alter, or otherwise change in someway. Synonyms:affect, impact, make a difference to, change<br/>Noun<br/>1. an act of touching someone or something. Synonyms: a stroke, a caress 2. In volleyball, it is the act of coming into brief contact with the ball. Synonyms: spike, dig, serve</p><p>CARRY<br/>ˈkerē/<br/>verb<br/>1. support and move (someone or something) from one place to another. synonyms:convey, transfer, move, hold, have, take, bring, bear 2. support the weight of. Synonyms:support, sustain, stand<br/>noun<br/>1. an act of lifting and transporting something from one place to another. 2. In volleyball, the act of sustaining contact with the ball longer than a brief moment, a violation</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meet

 

 

> **Announcer 1** : Welcome back to the 2012 London Olympics. If you’re just joining us from Men’s Whitewater slalom, we’re in the third and final set of Women’s Beach Volleyball Gold Medal match
> 
> **Announcer 2** : And what a match it has been! I honestly didn’t think we’d make it to a third set between these two American teams. The #1 seeded Woods sisters have been on fire throughout the entire tournament losing their first set to the dynamic duo of Griffin and Reyes moments ago. The 14th seeded team came out of nowhere to clench this spot in the final.
> 
> **Announcer 1** : I’m not gonna lie, Bob. They weren’t even on my radar. They were in a pool with powerhouse teams such as Italy and the Swedes.
> 
> **Announcer 2** : You’re not alone, Adam. I don’t think anyone saw them coming. Despite her atypical size for a blocker, Reyes has been explosive and fearless at the net. Racking up 7 blocks already. And I believe the quiet, technical precision at the net by the younger woods sister, Lexa, has finally been subjugated little by little by Griffin’s creative and fierce style of play.
> 
> **Announcer 1** : I couldn’t agree more. Anya has had a steady hand throughout the match, but Griffin’s got a silky touch. Did you see that dig in the first set? Lexa has ended matches and careers with the spike she sent griffin on that 8th point. But Griffin pulled it up like a weed and placed it neatly for Reyes to send back.
> 
> **Announcer 2** : It looks like both teams are ready as they make their way from the timeout area to the court for what could be match point. Griffin and Reyes up 14-13.

The next few minutes happen in slow motion for Clarke. The crowd cheering is but a dull ache in her bones. The sand beneath her feet though foreign feels like home. She knows they’re going to win this. Clarke has never been ok with losing. She’s never been ok with being the underdog. 2nd place is the 1st person to be forgotten. And she’s going to make a name for her and Raven.

She takes the ball from the lively youth and steps to her mark at the service line. She watches as Anya shifts the sand at her feet and prepares for Clarke’s serve. Lexa is taking her good, sweet time getting to the net. If this were an easier match she might have been distracted by Lexa Woods. Distracted by tan skin and eyes as green the sea beside them. But Lexa is good. A little too good. And Clarke shakes away the prickles of desire that itch at her skin, along with a few grains of sand.

 

 

 

> **Announcer 1** : Ball up. Over the net. Nice dig by Anya. Lexa sets. Anya sends a floater to the back corner.
> 
> **Announcer 2** : But Griffin is all over it! A one handed dig facing away from the net. Reyes sets. And griffin is back up to pound it cross court. Lexa digs. Anya sets. Lexa’s up. Raven is there! BLOCKED! GRIFFIN AND REYES WIN!

It takes her a second to realize what has happened, but when she looks through the net and sees utter defeat in those green eyes, she immediately sprints to where raven has fallen in the sand to start their victory celebration. But when she gets there, what she sees stops her in her tracks. The crowd continues to cheer over Raven’s cries of pain. She is trying to get up and Clarke is as frozen as Raven’s legs.

“Don’t move.” An eerily calm voice says beside them. “Raven, don’t move.” Tan hands reach for Raven’s shoulder and steady her. Lexa turns her head as Anya kneels beside them. “Go tell the ref. Get their attention.” Lexa piles up the sand beneath raven’s head into a pillow. Under her breath she is muttering what sounds like “I’m sorry” over and over again.

Clarke finally finds her thoughts. She pulls her gaze away from Lexa’s quavering, chiseled jaw and moves to comfort Raven. A whistle sounds and the crowd quiets as three medics push Clarke and Lexa out of the way. Anya has a comforting arm around Lexa when Clarke rears on them. “You.” Pointing to Lexa.” You are the one that did this!” Anya tosses Clarke a poisonous look before pulling Lexa to her again and continuing off the court.

Minutes later Clarke is with raven in the back of an ambulance on the way to the hospital

* * *

“They postponed the medal ceremony until you can walk again.” 3 agonizing days of watching Raven come in and out of surgery while the Olympics continued on around them, and clarke was exhausted. She could only imagine how Raven felt.

“They’re going to waiting a long time. Raven said slightly defeated. “The doctors confirmed this morning. They did what they could with the shattered vertebra, but I’m probably never going to walk again.”

Clarke’s sob began to bubble in her throat. Raven reached out a comforting hand. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m the smallest blocker to ever exist. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Clarke’s eyes filled with hate instead of tears then. “It’s fucking Lexa’s fault.”

“She’s allowed to have a mean spike, Clarke. I just landed wrong.” Raven continued to stroke across Clarke’s fore arm with her thumb.

“Well, whatever. She’s a bitch anyway.”

“She may be kinda cold, Clarke, but you know you have the hots for her.”

“I do. I did. I mean. Yes. I have EYES raven. Bikini. Tan Skin. More definitions than a dictionary. But. But this is beach volleyball. Everyone is hot.”

Raven chuckles, “Ok then, Clarke.”

“I’m serious. What am I going to do without you?” Clarke shakes her head finally allowing herself to feel the grief. The loss of her longtime partner. Before she lets it roll back into loathing once more. It’s easier that way. “I hate her.”

“You don’t. You hate this situation.”

“Oh, I can do both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Folks. I'm gonna play this fast and loose. None of that agonizing over specific word choice and the long-play details like i do in my other fics. It's mapped out, but not as tightly as I normally would. And gonna update with 750 to 1000 words a day until the end of the Olympics or a few days after. Whatever is there is there. This is gonna be hell on my perfectionist tendencies, but so so good for me. No beta. So let me know if I accidentally write any gibberish. I tend to leave prepositions of sentences. ;) Please leave comments and let me know what you think. THANK YOU


	2. Chapter 2

> **London Chronicle**
> 
> Monday the 13th of August 2012
> 
> **Americans Reyes and Griffin Take Gold in Women's Beach Volleyball Final**
> 
> **Historic Medals Ceremony**
> 
> The final medals ceremony took place yesterday in front of a packed house just before the closing of the Olympic games. The teams battled for the ultimate in Olympic prestige on Monday, culminating in a hard fought victory for Raven Reyes and Clarke Griffin. Unfortunately, on the final point Reyes sustained a devastating injury that left her unable to walk. Officials wanted to postpone the medals ceremony indefinitely, giving Reyes enough time to heal from her injuries.
> 
> The heartbreaking celebration was bittersweet for fans and honorees alike. After receiving word from physicians, Reyes was given a one-time clearance to receive her medal alongside her partner, Clarke Griffin. Reyes wheeled herself to the platform amidst a standing ovation. In a show of camaraderie, the silver and bronze place teams, aided Griffin and several officials in lifting Reyes’ wheel chair to the highest podium. The camaraderie ended when Griffin appeared to push Lexa Woods back down to the 2nd place podium. There were hands on hearts and tears in the eyes of nearly every attendee. Lexa Woods displaying her infamous pervasive stoicism and indifference despite the scorn received from her opponent moments before the first notes began to play.
> 
> Perhaps Griffin’s contempt towards Woods is warranted. This the third life-alteraing injury sustained in a match against the brunette blocker from Ocean City, Maryland. Despite her cold demeanor with the press and in public, the younger Woods sister can be a bit reckless when stakes are high.
> 
> The Closing Ceremonies commenced immediately following the conclusion of the American national anthem. While speeches and rites and the final celebration of the world coming together exploded across Olympic stadium, Raven Reyes was quietly returned to the hospital with Griffin at her side. Reyes will remain here in London for another 2 weeks before being well enough to return back to the states. Griffin and the rest of the Olympians should be returning to their respective countries within the next day or two.
> 
>  

Lexa places the newspaper on her bed. She pinches her noses and takes a shaky breath. “Three.”

“What?” Anya says not looking up from flitting wildly about their room in the Olympic Village. She is haphazardly stuffing anything she can fit into her duffle bag.

“Three, Anya.”

“You really think I can fit three pillows in here?” Finally connecting her confused gazed with her little sister’s broken and defeated stare.

“Three lives, Anya. Three lives that are never going to be the same because I let my emotions get the best of me.”

Anya cast her yes at the newspaper beside Lexa. “Tell me you don’t believe that crap.” She says finally understanding.

“It’s the truth.”

“It’s bullshit. You can’t blame yourself. It was just adrenaline.”

“It was carelessness.” Lexa stands and folds the paper neatly into her suitcase. And pulls a hoody over her head.

“It’s just bad luck, Lexa.”

“I don’t believe in luck. I believe in patterns. 1 maybe chance. 2 ok maybe unlucky. But 3 is a pattern.”

Anya wants to comfort her sister, but she knows better. Once Lexa has set her mind to something there is no way to change it. “Come on. We’re gonna miss our flight.” Anya says stuffing once last towel into her duffel.

Lexa nods curtly and zips her duffel.

* * *

London Heathrow is a mob of athletes. Most still in their nation’s colors. Lexa included. She lost Anya in the throng when they went their separate ways to get something to eat. Anya wanted one last authentic fish and chips. And Lexa wanted Chinese. She’s making her way back from getting her food when a whirl of red, white, and blonde crashes into her creating a momentary shower of chicken fried rice. Both girls are pulling pieces out of their hair when they finally make sense of the other’s face.

Lexa breaks first. “Clarke.” Regret glistening in her eyes “The match. Raven….I’m sor….”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare apologize.” Clarke looked menacing despite bits of chicken tumbling to the floor with her rage. Her voice seething and destructive.

Lexa can’t move. The proximity to Clarke having an entirely different effect than the anger radiating from Clarke’s every gesture.

Clarke pushes forward anyway. Not noticing the defensive posture of the brunette. “Don’t fucking say sorry. Don’t tell me how bad you feel. ‘I’m sorry’ means that you made a mistake and that you are going to try to change it. You can’t change this mistake. You can’t give me back my partner. You can’t give her back her legs. So fuck your apology, Woods. You can’t change it. Apologies mean nothing here.”

Lexa shatters inside herself. All the things that she’s felt edging their way to the surface. But she won’t cry. She won’t show emotion. Never again. “Are you done?”

Clarke storms off, hitting Lexa’s shoulder with her own dislodging the last remnant of their edible accessories. “Fuck you, Woods.”

Anya finally finds Lexa in the swarm. She holds up her dinner in its traditional wrapping of newspaper like a trophy. A grin across her face, but it falls instantly when she sees Lexa’s expression.

Lexa slumps into her. The world moving around them. Anya quickly wraps her up. The fried fish nearly forgotten. Lexa sighs. “She hates me”

“Who?”

“Clarke.”

“She doesn’t know you.”

“She knows enough.”

“She’ll get over it.”

“Maybe.”

Anya pulls Lexa back up to look in her eyes. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t know.”

But Anya knows. She’s seen the way Lexa watched the blonde setter throughout their time here in London. It’s a gaze she doesn’t see very often from her sister. This time Anya is the one who sighs. “She’ll get over it, Lexa. Even if you have to carry her over it kicking and screaming. She’ll get over it. I promise.”

Lexa gives a small rare smile.

“Now, let’s get some fucking dinner. Jesus, Lexa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! Thanks for the kudos and comments, dudes! It makes me feel giddy. I really appreciate it! Stay awesome!


	3. Chapter 3

The grunts and moans filled the room, a testament to the exertion. The strain evident in the convolutions of Raven’s neck as Christmas lights blink behind her highlighting each crest and valley of the sinew.

“Just one more.” Clarke encouraged. “Come on, Rae. One more push.”

Raven collapses in to the leg machine with the end of the routine, the festive pine garland wrapped around the machine shuddering with the impact. “Shit, Clarke your worse them him.”

“Me?” The physical therapist, Grant, joked inquisitively. “What about your other friend? She’s quite the slave driver.” He said as he gingerly lifted raven’s leg and massaged

Raven laughed nervously and then glares at Grant as he shifts her to the massage table. He gives her an inquisitive glare before shrugging and continuing reflexology down the leg. Clarke doesn’t notice the awkward exchange as she finishes sending out a text with a quiet “Fuck.”

“What?” Raven says wiping the sweat from her brow.

“Cotter is out. She wants to become a Veterinarian after USC.” Clarke says tucking her cell back in her pocket.

“What about Peyton or Stermer?”

“Yea, they are both amazing. But you know what? They decided to partner with each other. So there’s that little nugget.” Clarke growls and sits roughly on the table next to raven. Causing grant to have to weave around her.

“The pool is drying out isn’t it?” Raven asks, empathy pouring from her. “Everyone’s partnered up or not ready to commit until they graduate college? You should have started looking right away.”

“It’s fine, Raven. I wanted to be here with you.” Clarke says as she stands from the bench. “Even if I don’t find anyone. It was worth it to watch you prove everybody wrong.” Grant places a hot pad and a TENS unit on raven’s thigh, checking to make sure it twitches with precision. “This has got to be a record, Rae.” Clarke says watching the undulations. “16 months ago you were told you’d never walk again.”

“I still can’t walk.”

“But you got feeling back. And you can move them. And you still have a great ass.”

“Yea, fun little nugget.” Raven smiles. A moment passes. “Hey, Clarke. Thanks for being here as much as you can.”

“Give it 5 more months. If I don’t find a partner, I’m all yours. You and me. The way it should have been.” A stone cold expression hits Clarke’s face.

“Still blaming Woods?” Raven smacks her arm

“You bet your cute little nugget ass I am.” Clarke smiles

* * *

The ball lands softly on the other side of the net. Lexa lands with her panther-like grace. Slinking away from the net almost as if she is wounded.

“You’re still holding back.” Anya steps forward. “You can’t hold back.”

“Yes, I can.” Lexa shoulders her way past her sister.

“Lexa.” Anya turns on her heels and follows after. “You can’t keep blaming yourself. It’s been almost a year and a half.”

“And no one has been hurt since.” Lexa retorts.

Anya narrows her eyes, “Yea and we’ve lost nearly 50% of our matches since. You can’t hold back.”

“ _Yes, I can.”_ Lexa’s tone is like icy tendrils. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

“Lexa.”

“I said I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

“Lexa, I’m retiring.”

“Oh.”

“I was hoping you would be out of this funk by now.”

“I’m fine.”

“NO, you’re not.” Anya playfully nudges Lexa’s shoulder. “You’re stuck in your head. You used to play with your heart.”

Lexa sighs. “It’s fine. But what I am gonna do? What are you gonna do?”

“Well, you are gonna be fine, as you say. I’m just ready to do something other than volleyball. I’m 36 years old and the only thing I have on my resume is wicked dig.” She says laughing. “Come on. Ball up. Heels up.” She says tossing the ball to Lexa. “We gotta get you ready for your new partner.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

> **AVP. Com > Volleyball > Beach > Women > Updates May 2014:**
> 
> Stermer and Peyton have debuted on the circuit with explosive merit. Leaving crushed and dumbfounded opponents in their wake. They were undefeated in the opening classic. Though it appears as though the sport is seriously lacking in strong teams right now. The Woods sisters were always a force to be reckoned with, but with Anya announcing her retirement last December, that has left Lexa without a consistent partner ever since.
> 
> Another strong player lacking a partner, Clarke Griffin, is reportedly holding trials for post-graduate players in Santa Monica next week. She has been without a partner, mostly by choice, since her former teammate went down in the London Olympics.
> 
> Woods and Griffin are both excellent players. And it would be an excellent partnership if it weren’t their obvious contempt for each other.
> 
> The Daytona Classic and the Sun and Sand Tournament in San Diego are next month. Two more tournaments to be determined. Check back next month for the latest updates on tournaments.
> 
> In related news, it appears as though famous volleyball coach, Gustus Plinkov, has defected from Russia. When asked what his plans were in the states, he said, “To make strong team. Strongest the world has ever seen.”
> 
> * * *
> 
> * * *

Notes:

lol daily updates might have been a bit ambitious. But this will be finished. Also, thanks for reading. Please take a moment to let me know how I am doing. The good, the bad, and everything in between.<br />  
Stay awesome!

I'm on tumblr. [Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me. And to geek out about clexa and brains and human behavior and Jung and Francis Bacon. And edible bacon. Yum.


	4. Chapter 4

Anya takes a bite of her fried egg sandwich, a bit of mayonnaise dripping from the crust. “God, I missed mayo.”

Lexa pokes at her salad with her fork. “Some of us are still training.”

“Wea, yea sorry. Didn’t mean to rub it in your face. How’s the partner hunt going?”

“It’s not.” She says dropping her fork to her plate with a clatter. “No one wants to play with me. They’re all afraid of me.”

“Idiots.”

“Yea, well. Maybe I’ll retire too.”

“No fucking way. You’re too young.”

“If I don’t find a partner soon. I may have to.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find you someone. Someone fearless.” Anya says opening mail on her phone. A bit of mayo smearing across the screen.

* * *

“How did it go?” Raven says pulling the brace off her leg and massaging it.

Clarke steps from the bathroom, drying her hair with a towel, wrapped in a simple robe. “Ugh.They were all awful. Those that have the stats, I have no chemistry with. Those that I have chemistry with, can’t block to save a life.”

“Maybe you’re being too picky.”

“Yea, well. I got spoiled the first time out, didn’t I? I got an amazing partner. We won gold at the Olympics. Big shoes to fill and all that.” A frown stretches her features. Clarke hangs the towel over the back of a chair and sits on the bed next to raven in her wheelchair. “How did physio go?”

“I stood today. With the help of that,” she says pointing to the brace on the floor, “And Grant, and the upright bars.”

“Wow. Awesome! I’m sorry I missed it, Rae.”

“It’s fine. You can’t be at all of them. Plus, you have to find a partner.”

“I know.” Clarke says moving to aid in the massage. “Friends first though.”

“Friends first.” Raven smiles. “Oh, but if you’re not too busy being my friend right now, I got an email back from Plinkov.”

“Gustuv Plinkov?” The excitement filling Clarke’s eyes. “You _e-mailed_ him?”

“Yea. He says he wants to coach you. And he may have found a world class athlete for you to work with.”

“Yes, Rae!” Clarke squeezes Ravens knee where she’d been massaging it. “Tell him Yes!”

Raven chuckles, “Already did. He is flying in next week.”

“Fuck, yes! You’re the best!”

“I know. Can you let go of my leg now?”

* * *

Gustus steps off the plane into the terminal and checks his e-mail. Two confirmations. “Yes, good.” He says to the woman next to him.

“Do they know the other is coming?” Indra huffs as she pulls her duffle over her shoulder.

“No.” The wires of gustus’ beard twisiting with the word.

“They are going to be angry.”

“I do not care. Anger is weakness. They are strong.” Gustus says “They will see.” 

* * *

 

> **Salters** : Lisa Salters and Brian MacNamara here with the E:60 breakdown. The best stories in the wide world of sports in 60 seconds. The football season started up again this week with the Lions and the Packers going head to head in Detroit’s home-opener. The Packers are showing true offensive depth, bringing most of their players from the bench and still beating Detroit 31 – 17.
> 
> **MacNamara** : Detroit is lacking in their typical, infamous defense. Stutgard is out until at least midseason with a back injury. He’s the anchor of their defensive line up.
> 
> **Salters** : The WNBA held their annual charity event for the YMCA. Players took to the court with kids of all ages. The event raised over 250,000 dollars for the organization.
> 
> **MacNamara** : The road to Rio. Just under 2 years until the summer games in Rio De Janiero. Olympians from all over the country are heating up as they make their final selections for team mates and coaches, fine tune their training regiments, and preparing themselves mentally for a grueling 24 months.
> 
> **Salters** : That’s right. But there are still some athletes struggling to gear up for their preparations. A doping scandal has rocked the men’s rowing teaming leaving just 2 clean athletes to compete.
> 
> **MacNamara** : Kinda hard to paddle a boat made for 8. Back on shore, Peyton and Stoermer are poised to be the Olympic favorites in women’s beach volleyball, having rocked the tournament circuit this past summer. But only time will tell.
> 
> **Salters** : Especially with famed coach, Plinkov putting together a team clandestinely. He still refuses to comment on who he’s paired together.
> 
> **MacNamara** : My money is on two unknowns with great potential.
> 
> **Salters** : I guess we’ll see. Whoever it is, it's bound to be explosive. And that’s sports in 60. After the commercial we’ll have an in depth interview with the president of Under Armor and his inspiration in creating one of the most infamous brands in athletic wear.

 

* * *

 

Clarke strides onto the court like she owns it. There’s movement at the net in front of her. Immediately bronzed curves and rippling muslces catch her eye as the lithe body sends an easy volley over the net to an older dark-skinned woman. Clarke recognizes the older woman as Gustus' assitant, Indra. She trains her eye away from chestnut-haired goddess and looks through the net to see the infamous Gustus Plinkov standing at attention. He moves towards Clarke as the mystery goddess comes to stand beside her and gestures for both players to cross over under the net. Indra falls in line with Gustus.

“Welcome.” He says, “You will be gold medal winners, yes? You will defeat them all, yes?”

“Yes.” Clarke says

“Yes.” The cold voice says beside her.

Chills go through her even though it’s exceptionally hot for September. Clarke finally chances a glance at her prospective partner. “You.”

Green eyes connect and that chilsed jaw drops. “You. Clarke. I –“

Lexa is a vision, an annoying, uptight stone-cold vision in her racer back bikini. It puts Clarke momentarily on pause until she finds her voice again to protest. “No way! No fucking way! I’m not partnering with her!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH YES YOU ARE CLARKE. Bet you didn't see that coming. Lol of course you did. You're all super smart.   
> I might update again later this evening. Would you like that? :)
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. Gustus and Indra are super fun to write in this fic.


	5. Rival

“No way! No fucking way! I’m not partnering with her!”

Gustus bristles at the profanity. “You will. And you will use more elegant words. You sound like a horse chewing cud.”

Clarke digs her heels into the sand. Lexa stares unblinking, eyes moving from Clarke to Gustus to Indra. A bit thunderstruck.

 “I’m not working with her.” Clarke says again. Trying to will it in to a truth.

“You are.” Gustus looms over her. A bearded sentinel. Unwavering in his pursuit of his goal. “You will work with Alexandria. You have no choice. You were too busy squandering other partners. There is no one left. You are spoiled.”

Clarke is hard-worker. She didn’t come by her talent on accident. She opens her mouth to disagree, But Gustus’ eyes are sharp.

“Indra will mold you. No longer soft sand. You will be strong. Together. Like cement”

Indra steps forward with a whistle. “Push ups to standing. Jump and touch the net. 100. Go!”

Lexa drops the ball she’d been holding and hits the sand beside it. She’s already five jumps ahead while Clarke continues to gape disapprovingly. Gustus eyes the blonde menacingly and scoffs. “She is warrior. What are you? Princess?”

Clarke rolls her eyes and drops to the sand. There is no way she going to let Lexa Woods beat her. At anything.

“Heels up!” Gustus shouts.

* * *

The afternoon waned away with fitness drill after fitness drill. Lexa learned early that Clarke was exceptionally competitive. Simple things like stopping for a water break, even at Gustus’ behest became a test in Lexa’s patience. Clarke bounding to the water jug with vigor, her full breasts barely contained under her simple bikini top as she strode forward. Lexa found herself drinking more than necessary to quench her thirst. Lust was fine, that didn’t take much work to control. But pushing Lexa out of the way to refill her bottle first or tripping her to be the first one back on the sand was extremely trying. But a part of her believed she deserve it from the setter. She’d effectively messed up Clarke’s career as well when she sent that unforgiving spike careening at her partner. So she was willing to take it in stride. Even as Clarke purposely bumped into her and sent Lexa’s water bottle flying, Lexa was willing to just let it go. For now.

* * *

“No!” Gustus shouts “Do it again!”

Clarke sets Lexa once more and she follows through with another soft volley across court.

“Perhaps I was wrong about you. You are not warrior, Alexandria. You are watergun. Clogged water gun. You can hit harder. But you do not. It is stupid. Futile. Explain, Watergun.” He says tilting his head curiously.

Lexa hear Clarke snickering. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I still do not understand, Watergun?”

“If I don’t hold back, people get hurt.” Lexa says hoping that’s good enough. She doesn’t want to talk about this. Especially in front of Clarke who has stopped snickering and is standing with arms folded shooting daggers at Lexa with her eyes.

Gustus is silent for a moment as he takes in Lexa’s answer. “Ah, Yes.” He grabs Lexa’s arm and guides her in to flexing her bicep. “You think you are too strong. So you pretend to be weak.” He lets the arm fall like a wet noddle to her side. “It is….what is the American word? Bullshit?” He strides away from her and does an about face. “I have seen the tapes. Of the injuries. That is why you pretend to be weak yes?”

Lexa nods.

“Bullshit. All of them. The girl in San Francisco. Weak ankles already. You did nothing that nature would not have done at some point. And the other girl, the blonde one. She was an idiot. She jumped into you. Perhaps, she thought she could injure _you_. But you are wall. Thick indestructible wall. It is her own fault her shoulder is like cheese. Like lettuce. Indra. What is word?”

“Shredded.”

Clarke is paying unequivocal attention to the next words out of Gustus’ mouth. Daring him to speak ill of Raven. “The tiny girl in London. She had no business being a blocker. I watched every minute of that match. She tried to bend in ways tiny girls do not bend. Over-composition.”

“Compensation.” Indra corrects

Gustus nods and returns his attention to Lexa. “Why have gunpowder if you never make fireworks? It is your job to hit the ball hard. It is their job to try and stop you. Your strength is their problem. Not yours.”

Lexa feels a tiny prickle of relief.

“Yes. Now. Do you want to play volleyball or do you want to build sand castles? Hit hard or you might as well build one for princess here, yes?”

“Hey!” Clarke says

Gustus rounds on Clarke. “And you! Your heels are like stones in the sand. Alexandria is beautiful ballerina. Always on her toes. Moves with grace. She will make perfect teammate for you. Forget about tiny girl. Watergun is your teammate now. Deal with it or leave.”

Clarke debates it. Tosses it back and forth like a rally. Instead she raises her chin defiantly and stays.

“Good.” Gustus says with the hint of a smile underneath his mustache. “Beach run. 6 miles. Heels up! Go!”

Lexa takes off at a sprint. Clarke groans and takes off after her.

* * *

Lexa is enjoying the quiet as she runs down the shore. She left Clarke behind ages ago. She still wonders what she is doing here. If it’s not futile. Clarke’s contempt has tempered little over the course of the day. Shoving, jabbing, derisive laughter, wrestling for every volley, pushing her at every chance. It is insanely frustrating. Lexa briefly reminisces on the gold medal match and how infuriated Lexa had become with Clarke’s skill at receiving the ball. Her pokes and jabs at each spike Lexa sent hurtling toward her. Lexa had become so frustrated in fact that it had tumbled over into anger and she lost control.

And slowly. Little by little. Clarke is pushing her buttons again. To what? Make Lexa feel bad? Punish her? If _that_ were a competition Lexa would win it every time.

But maybe it wasn’t her fault after all. Maybe. Gustus’ words were ricocheting against her own self-doubt. _Maybe._ But a little voice inside of her won’t let go. She doesn’t realize she has slowed down until she hears the splashes in the waves beside her. The blonde has caught up with her and continues to sprint passed her splashing Lexa in the wake of her strides. “What the hell, Clarke?!”

“Fuck you, Woods.” She sing-songs as she continues her sprint toward the halfway mark, a cocky smirk plastered on her face.

It hits Lexa. That little spark. That little flare of anger fanned by her frustration. The one that leads to nothing good. Lexa tempers it with the thought that whatever Lexa has done she can punish herself. She doesn’t need Clarke for that. But she does need Clarke if she wants to continue playing volleyball. It’s only been a day, but Lexa knows that Clarke is probably the most stubborn person she has ever met. And she grew up with Anya. If she learned anything from her it was when to keep your heels up and when to dig them in.

“Heels up!” Lexa sing-songs back as she passes Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh. Looks like Lexa is pissed. And beginning to forgive herself. But Clarke won't. She is still so angry. Maybe irrationally so? Hmmm.
> 
>  
> 
> I heart Gustus Plinkov. There I said it.
> 
>  
> 
> Today is Fanfiction Writers Appreciation day! Makes sure you send love to all your faves. Kudos. Asks on tumblr. And long, thoughtful comments are the best way to show that you appreciate how much effort goes into the things we write.
> 
> Anyway, as always, stay awesome and thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Lexa pounds a ball into the sand at Clarke’s feet. Clarke grunts and casts a pointed stare in Lexa’s direction. Lexa hums satisfied with herself. Her confidence gaining again. Three weeks of patience and a little penance as she absorbs Clarke’s dislike and had been able to start throwing back some of her own. Verbally and on the court.

Gustus nods approvingly. “Better, Watergun. More like a Super Soakie.”

“Er.” Indra chimes not looking up from her paperwork. “Super soakER.” She moves towards the sidelines away from this circus so she can finish her work in peace.

“Yes, much more powerful than tiny water gun. But not powerful enough. Still. Better.”

Lexa stands self-assuredly, chin-up in defiance, staring at Clarke, as Gustus knots his fingers together behind his back. His eyes appraise Clarke and his tongue clicks a patronizing rhythm. “And you princess. You are slow like cow in winter.”

Clarke stares back at her partner. Taking in her regal appearance and toned body. Clarke ripples with a mixture of hatred, frustration, and pure want.

Lexa mistakes Clarkes expression of lust for cowering to the hilarious reprimand and chuckles briefly until Gustus throws his obsidian glare in her direction. “In the sand. Jump touch. 50.” Lexa begins the regime, the smile gone from her face.

Clarke answers Lexa blank expression with a cocky grin just as Gustus turns to her again.  “Do you want to be slow like cow in winter?”

Clarke huffs. “You’ve seen me play. I can get to nearly every ball.”

Gustus gathers his beard in one hand and strokes it thoughtfully. “A flair for the dramatic, yes? Diving here and there like happy porpoise. If you kept heels up, you would not be egging all over the place.”

Clarke gives him a perplexed look. His features twist slightly. Indra is too far away to do her usual interpreting. Gustus’ black eyes search the air for the right word. Lexa offers it haughtily mid jump. “Scrambling?”

“Ahh. Yes, Super Soaker. Scramble.” He turns back to Clarke. “Heels up. And you get every ball, cold cow.” He allows an accusatory finger to linger in her face before he turns quickly away to adjust the net. Clarke scowls righteously at Lexa.

Lexa continues her exercise proudly. Having finally one-upped her beautiful and infuriating partner.

Before Gustus can return his attention to Clarke, she sticks out her tongue at her partner. Lexa mouths “Real mature.”

Clarke takes the bait. “Fuck you, Woods!” She shouts.

Gustus is on her in a second. A tower. Eclipsing her in shadow. “A slow cow and horse chewing cud. You are princess of a barnyard, yes?” He narrows his eyes and glowers.

“Jump touch. 100. 50 for each animal.” He walks away muttering words in Russian, emphasizing each syllable with an emphatic hand gesture.

Clarke presses her body to the sand. “I hate you.”

Lexa is barely breathing heavily as she smirks. “Looks like we have something in common. I hate you, too.”

It’s a staring contest while they finish their exercises.

Though neither will admit aloud just what exactly they are staring at.

* * *

 

“She’s so irritating, Anya.”

“So your crush is over?” Anya adjusts her cellphone to her other shoulder

“Long ago.”

“She still hate you?”

“Yea. But I hate her too, now.”

“How’s the chemistry? On the court I mean?”

“We actually play pretty well together when we aren’t arguing.” Lexa sighs. “Did I mention the part where she is competitive and cocky?”

“A few times yea.”

“Yea.” Lexa’s tone softens

“And she won’t let up?” Anya asks seeing through Lexa’s façade even though they aren’t even in the same room.

“Yea.”

“A little pushy?”

“Yea.”

“Kinda does it for you, doesn’t it?”

“Yea.” Lexa sputters realizing what she’d just admitted to. “No. No! She’s awful.”

“So you don’t hate her.” It's not a question.

“A little.”

“You sure?”

“Ugh. No. But I can’t let her know that.” Lexa pulls the phone away to read a notification. A text from Clarke. _Come an hour early tomorrow._

“So what are you going to do?”

“Stick it out I guess. Until she murders me.”

“When’s your first match together?”

“Gustus has us in a top secret scrimmage at the compound in a couple of months. Right before thanksgiving. If we don’t kill each other by then.”

“I’ll be there. I’ll bring a casket just in case she does murder you.”

“She wants to meet alone tomorrow. You may need to have it ready sooner.”

* * *

 

“I’m going to murder her! She’s an ass.” Clarke screams into the phone

“Don’t you think you’re being a little unfair, Clarke?” Raven grimmaces at her best friend.

“What? No. Why? She deserves every little bit of shit she gets.”

“I don’t hate her. “Raven replies humbly

“You should, Raven”

“Why?”

“Why?! Because you’re paralyzed.”

 “You sure this is still about that?”

“Yes.”

Raven grows silent on the other line. “It’s not your fault you know.”

“I know.” Clarke responds mechanically

“Do you?”

“No.”

Raven takes a deep breath in and exhales as she repeats her earlier sentiment. “You’re not being fair to Lexa.”

The air changes and “Do you remember when we were girls?”

“We’re not girls now?”

“Teenage girls, Raven.”

“Yea, I know.” Smile “What about it?”

“Do you remember when we used to sit on the pier. Feet dangling off and we’d watch the tournaments? I couldn’t wait to be old enough to enter. I used to make you play with me and pretended we were pros.”

“I had a lot of things on my mind at the time. I liked being with you. I was distracted.”

“You never wanted to play though.” Clarke voice had tapered to a whisper. Raven swore she hear a shred of remorse in her voice hidden in the smallness. Understated. But nothing about Clarke is understated so it is a giant herald of something wrong. “I made you.”

“Oh.” Raven says comprehending something she has missed for years. “You didn’t make me, Clarke. Playing volleyball with you was important to me.”

“But I convinced you. Would you have played if I wasn’t there?”

“I think it was the bikini’s more than anything else that convinced me.“ She says playfully, hoping to alleviate the guilt Clarke had kept hidden for so long. “Lexa…”

The laughter catches Clarke’s her throat at her partner’s name. “I know, Raven. I know I am not being fair. I know. I just can’t stop it from bubbling up.”

“Clarke. You can’t push away every potential partner. Sabotaging your career for me. Even if you don’t realize you are doing it. I know you love me and would do anything for me. But don’t give up just because I can’t play. Lexa is a good match for you, too. Sounds like she won’t take your shit. Just try with her, please.” Raven can hear the staggered breath on the other end. She gives Clarke time to process. To understand her rage. Understand the rage. Understand the burden Clarke has carried with her, shoving down her feelings to attend to Raven’s. It’s the only thing she is better at than volleyball. “Try?”

“For you?” Clarke asked tentatively. At the point of tears.

“For you, Clarke.”

“Okay.” Clarke struggles to end the call unsure of what to say. “Thank you, Rae. I love you.”

The call ends. Clarke stares at the screen through watery eyes. She quickly rubs them, sets her jaw determinedly, and sends out a text.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is soooo not edited. And by edited I mean raked thoroughly over the coals that are my perfectionist tendencies. The struggle is real. What do we think? Good? Bad? LOL?
> 
> So guys you figured out 'heels up' is the equivalent to 'toe pick'. But 'fuck you, woods' also kinda sorta works in tandem with it in this fic. You'll see. Wink wink.
> 
> In other news, I am a very busy lady. I work 50 hours a week. With lots of commuting as well. But I was on vacation last week. That's why I was able to do frequent updates. But I'm back to work now. I'll try and do two a week.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and until next time....HEELS UP!


	7. Connect

Lexa pads through the echoing halls of the mansion. They don’t have any training facilities like this back home. It is also rather cold this time of year. She takes light steps assuring that she doesn’t alert Gustus to her early morning rendezvous.

She’s nervous. She thinks being alone with Clarke is a bad idea. But Clarke had finally reached out in another way besides to shove her aside. SO Lexa is willing to bend and hope that they can find some common ground. She’s certainly tired of the bickering. She hopes Clarke is too.

Lexa turns the corner hoping for an empty kitchen. Indra’s habits are far different from Gustus’ and she seems to have a sixth sense for when Lexa is away from her room. She’s caught Lexa a few times wandering corridors or strolling along the huge wall that guards the compound from prying eyes.

She wonders how Gustus came to have a place like this at his disposal. But she would never ask him. It’s best to not question Gustus Plinkov in anyway shape or form if you can help it.

Finding herself alone she quickly grabs an orange juice from the fridge and an apple and a granola bar. And starts to head to the back exit towards the private beach where Clarke is waiting. A thought snaps into her head. She’s subconsciously returning to the fridge and grabbing another oj and some more food before she understands what she is truly doing. She convinces herself that it’s so she can have a peace offering in case Clarke wants to berate her some more and has little to nothing to do with the fact that she is concerned with Clarke’s welfare and nutrition.

She’s standing on one of the two courts on the compound, scanning the area for any sign of Clarke. Faint cawing grabs her attention and turns it toward the water. The sunrise is a spark of pinks and yellows across the water. She can make out a faint silhouette against the kaleidoscope sitting barely out of reach of the waves.

She’s just about 20 paces away, bag of breakfast in hand when the sun begins to peak out over the water. A glimmer of sunlight catches Clarke just right and it makes her indigo eyes glow an even more unearthly blue. It takes the breath from Lexa and a shiver runs up her spine. Lexa knows it has nothing to do with the chill in the air. A swift wind sweeps Clarkes golden locks, the light catches them as well and they beam like the sunrise behind her. Lexa stops all forward movement caught up in the ethereal enigma that is her partner. But Clarke pulls her hood up and the spell is broken. Lexa continues her walk down to the shore.

* * *

The morning is fragmented with crisp rays of the burgeoning sun. It’s chilly, but made more bearable when Clarke pulls her hoodie up over her head. It’s calming and beautiful and it fortifies Clarke against the onslaught of nerves. The nerves she always feels when she’s about to admit she’s wrong. It’s a rare occurrence. She doesn’t have much practice or precedent really.

She sits in the sand, the waves almost nipping at her heels. The serenity of the scene is perforated by the occasional slicing squawks of seagulls overhead and the low murmur of what Clarke assumes are idle conversations of early morning beach goers.

The wall along the private beach and compound they had been training on doesn’t extend all the way to the sea here. Clarke turns her head. She can see people on the promenade walking their dogs or in the midst of their early morning run. She tries to remember what it was like running just for fun and not training. She strains to pick up pieces of their conversations, looking for fragments of what a normal life might have been like. But she’d fallen in love with Volleyball. Swore she would be the greatest that ever lived. And dragged Raven with her. The guilt crashes over just as a waves spills across her feet. She turns her eyes back to the ocean.

“Clarke” The soothing voices spreads though her body like an echo. It’s simultaneously comforting and terrifying. A return to serenity. A leap into the unknown. She casts a glance over a shoulder to see Lexa taking tentative steps toward her. Like a deer stepping from the protective cover of the forest into an open meadow. Vigilant and unsure.

Clarke takes in the beauty of this Lexa. Vulnerable and insecure. And it makes her want to reach out to tell her that this is good news. She is safe now. Clarke won’t hurt her anymore if she can help it. And she’s really going to try.

Her purpose there sparks fresh in her veins and the nerves light up across her body.

Lexa sits beside her. “You wanted to see me. I’m here.” There’s a bite to Lexa’s voice. It’s not cold like frost. It’s the same controlled defensive tone Lexa has always had, but now Clarke can see it for what it really is. A conditioned response. She has taught Lexa to expect the worse from her.

Clarke sighs. “I’d rather play volleyball with you than not at all.” It comes out harsher than she intended and Clarke silently curses herself for fucking this up on the first sentence.

Lexa’s stare is still stone cold and unfeeling except for a small twinge of uncertainty shaping her brow. Clarke turns fully to her and takes the biggest breath she thinks she ever has in her life. “I’m sorry.” The force of the exhale pushes back a few of Lexa’s curls and cause her to blink furiously. “I’m calling a truce.”

No answer. Lexa turns her gaze to the ocean. Betraying nothing.

“I’m sorry, Lexa.” Another exhale. Another sigh. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I would like us to try…to actually try without me being a spoiled brat…uh…to see if we have something here.”

Lexa can see her struggling and the sudden urge to protect Clarke is nearly overwhelming. But she only puts a hand up to stop Clarke’s ramblings. She’s still staring at the waves when she lets out a whisper. “I’m sorry, too. I know you don’t want my apology. But I never wanted to hurt anybody. I just lose control sometimes.”

“Lexa, it’s not your fault. I know that. I’ve always known that. Losing Raven was terrifying and my…” She wants to admit that it’s her fault. To finally say it out loud to someone, but it dies in her chest when she sees a spark of what appears to be hope in green eyes cast towards the sea. “I’m really sorry I took it out on you.”

Lexa gives a curt nod and inhales slowly through her nose. Dozens of waves lick at her heels before Lexa speaks. “You may have your truce.” She turns towards Clarke. “On one condition.”

“Anything”

“You keep your heels up.”

Clarke can’t stop the electric smile that zaps its way onto her face. She gives Lexa a playful push to her shoulder. Lexa has to put an arm down to stop herself from rolling onto the sand. She returns back to her position with a mischievous grin picking at the corners of her mouth. “Just kidding. You’re doing well. My one condition is that you accept my apology anyway.”

 “Fine. Apology unnecessary but excepted.” She watches as Lexa tries to wipe the sand off her hands. “I have a condition, too, though.”

“Hmm?” An eyebrow quirking up as the final remnants of sand fall to the beach.

“I want to actually know you. Not just teammate stuff. I want to be your friend.” Where the fuck did that come from.

But it doesn’t really matter because Lexa smiles and asks “What do you want to know?”

* * *

Lexa is _funny_. Clarke wasn’t expecting it. She’s not overtly hilarious. It’s an almost spiritual wit that drips from her mouth in dry observations and matter-of-fact statements. Annotations about the world and life made through painstaking attention to detail and rumination until her thoughts are perfectly filtered into an almost subliminally delivered comical nugget. Clarke has laughed out loud more times before finishing her bagel than she probably has total in the last 6 months. But shortly after, a pang of something….guilt? Greif? No. Regret. Causes the laughter to die in her throat. They could have been like this the whole time. Since she realized Lexa was the world class athlete Gustus wanted her to partner with. Since the match at London. Since Clarke first saw Lexa at breakfast in the Olympic Village two years ago. But the second Clarke started to make her move towards Lexa, Clarke felt herself choke and lose confidence.

Each time Clarke saw Lexa she lost more and more of her nerve. Until she realized they would be playing in the gold medal match together. She swore to herself if she could not let Lexa distract her and win the gold medal that she would walk right up to the net after the match and ask her crush for her phone number.

She has it now. But only because Gustus plugged it into her phone without permission from either girl.

But then Raven got hurt. And fear and grief multiplied like heads on a hydra. Each time she found a way to deflect and cut off a source of guilt two new reasons to hate herself grew in its place. So she started to trying to cut off the heads of other mythological creatures. Mainly Lexa.

Clarke clears her throat. Sending the remnant of her laughter at Lexa’s wit to a watery grave. She feels the surging regret and fear and grief growling with its many heads. She feels the need to apologize. But Lexa see’s it coming.

“Don’t.” She shuts her yes and stretches her legs digging channels with her heels. “I would say it a thousand times, too, Clarke. Apologize until I am blue in the face. But you were right. In the airport. It won’t change the past. We can only change the future.” Her eyes open and find Clarke’s. “No more regrets. No more apologies. It’s time to move on.”

Clarke feels a gentle pull toward Lexa, like the tide that’s steadily been tugging the waves back from the shore, pulling them home. It’s a curious, prickling draw. She wants to tell Lexa how exquisite she thinks she is. How she’s always thought that, even in the midst of her unwarranted anger. She settles on sarcasm instead. “I’m so glad we’re friends now.” She says it in a flat burr eclipsed by a smile.

“Oh so it was that easy to become your friend?”

“Sorry, I misspoke. Teammates at best.”

“I’ll take it.” Lexa looks at her watch and stands offering Clarke a hand. Clarke tries to ignore the prickling. The curious prickling draw pulling at her again. But before she has to, Lexa releases and sprints away. “Last one to practice has to tell Gustus why we’re late!”

“Crap.” Clarke rolls her eyes and takes off. She stretches her stride, digging her toes into the sand as she has been taught over the last few weeks. She overtakes Lexa in seconds, giving her a playful shoulder bump as she passes and mewling “Heels up, Woods!” as she passes.

In an instant Lexa is matching her stride for stride. “Fuck you, Griffin.” She says it with a smile on her face and uses her body weight to push Clarke off course. Clarkes pushes back.

They are both pushing and pulling, subconsciously seeking as much contact as possible, all the way up to the courts and a rather unamused Gustus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GaaaaAAAAAAaaaaaay!
> 
> Things are looking up for our girls. Can they really figure out how to be friends?
> 
> lol no. They're gaaaaaaAAAAAAaaaaaay, remember?
> 
> Anyway tell me what you like about this please. THANKS FOR BEING HERE. You are all superb.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is shorter than the rest but it is one of my favorite chapters. Don't choke on the cotton candy fluff. Gustus is still my love.

 

 

> **AVP.com >volleyball>women’s>beach>EXCLUSIVE**
> 
> Lexa Woods and Clarke Griffin have teamed up under the tutelage of Gustus Plinkov! Sources report seeing the infamous coach coming and going from a mansion with a private beach. It was only rumored that he was coaching his secret team here until two brave fans were able to find a weakness in the compound’s security. The witnesses reported seing the two powerful players, Woods and Griffin, practicing. “It was a site to behold,” said one of the witnesses. The other reported: “I wouldn’t hold your breath. I don’t think they are going to make it out of the compound alive.” Experts at AVP.com are inclined to agree after seeing some of the pics the infiltrators were able to snap. The two fans also said that though they seemed to play well together, it was only between heated arguments and verbal sparring matches. They’re contempt for each other is well documented. See media below for that and the exclusive pictures of Woods and Griffin training with Plinkov.
> 
> London Women's beach volleyball gold medal match end (Warning graphic injury)
> 
> Autotune of Griffin telling off Woods in Gold Medal Match
> 
> Slow Motion of Woods being pushed off the gold medal podium
> 
> Stills of Griffin's angry face
> 
> Stills of the two women training together

 

 

* * *

Fireworks, Watergun!” Gustus is standing on a platform 10 feet in the air, 2 large bins of volleyballs had been set up beside him. He is slamming balls toward the sand and shouting every little critique that comes to his mind. “Heels up, Princess.”

 Exactly 53 days of volleys digs and sets. Up downs. Beach runs. Suicides. Long swims. The training is relentless. Gustus is relentless. But at least Clarke had eased up on Lexa. There were mild fights when Clarke became frustrated, but the fury was gone. Replaced by playful sarcasm. The rivalry was still there, but it was encouraging as opposed to terrorizing. Lexa still held back. And Clarke still threw her temper tantrums from time to time. Now that she is no longer the target, Lexa finds it oddly endearing and fairly amusing. She enjoys their verbal sparring matches and wicked banter. Clarke equals her in ways she never thought possible. And continuing despite what she feels when the blonde is around is exceptionally difficult.

Lexa loses her patience with just how frustratingly wonderful and beautiful Clarke is. Watching her day in and day out in her various bikinis and short shorts. Those stupid blue eyes glowing when they execute a perfect play. The chemistry was so unbelievably exceptional now it was like watching the universe form. Lexa thoughts often turned to having a Big Bang of her own. She is often distracted by all things Clarke Griffin that she misses a set and ends up with her face in the sand while Gustus counts her UP Downs methodically.

The large bin of balls is nearly depleted now. The majority of practice had been Gustus launching balls at the two of them. Shouting his harrowing reminders of their inadequacies. It was apparent Clarke was fed up with Gustus’ digs. Lexa is used to this kind of frustration being directed at her so when Clarke sends one of her own digs flying towards Gustus’ position on the platform, her jaw falls open in shock. The ball heads right for his face and he starts to sputter and flail his arms wildly to defend from the oncoming missile.

Both Lexa and Clarke are laughing uproariously when he fixes them with a narrow glare. Lexa high fives Clarkes as Gustus pushes the button to descend the platform. “Very funny, Princess.” He says when the apparatus settles onto the grit. He calmly steps off on to the sand and picks at his nails walking toward Clarke nonchalantly.

Before Clarke realizes it is happening, Gustus has picked her up and easily thrown her over his shoulder and marches toward the shore. Lexa follows, slightly dumbfounded. Making mild protests to release Clarke, but they are not heard over Clarke’s wriggling and squirming and shouting.

When he reaches the shore, he casually flings Clarke into the surf, watching with a cool half-smile while she pops through the oncoming wave and rears on him with a furious scowl.

The sight elicits an uncontrolled bark of laughter from Lexa’s lips. She side-eyes Gustus when she realizes what she has done. It’s too late. He is headed straight for her. When he reaches her his words come at a slither. “You are teammates, yes? You do everything together now.”

Lexa feels her heels and toes and every part of her lift from the sand. There is a brief moment in time when she is raised high above the waves. She makes eye contact with Clarke and sees the effortless smile replace the previously furious scowl. Lexa is quickly resigned to her fate and oddly accepting of it. In seconds she’s sputtering to the surface and an easy hand comes to rest on her shoulder. All Lexa can see is Clarke. And she doesn’t really care if she sees anything else ever again.

Gustus splashes water at the pair. “You two are getting along better. This is good. No longer squawking gulls, yes? Soon soaring eagles.” His half smile grows into a sly grin. “But now you look like stupid tuna. The seas that way, stupid tuna.” He says pointing back in to the ocean.

Clarke nudges Lexa shoulders “I think I prefer happy porpoise. Come on.” She says giving Lexa light tap on her back just above her gluts and then diving in to a wave. Lexa glances at Gustus.

He winks at her. “Dinner in 30, stupid tuna.” Lexa smiles and does her best impression of the happiest porpoise on earth as she dives into the next wave toward Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Lexa. You're in LUUUUURVE. Happy gay in love little porpoise.  
> Gustus, you minx.
> 
> HIII Everybody! Thanks for being here and thanks especially if you keep coming back. It means a lot. 
> 
> As always this is unedited, and I would appreciate some feedback homeys. You're the best!
> 
> oh, and sorry if tried to click on the "links" for the videos. Nothing like those exists but if you want to make some fanart for this, I'll definitely link them there. And everywhere probably. :) I think we all would appreciate some clexa in bikini's, yes?


	9. Linger

Clarke was going to try and sleep. Going to try and curl up and not worry about this. The scrimmage is tomorrow. They are ready. They are a team. They are friends. They are something. Something Clarke didn’t really have a name for. Her relationships, platonic relationships (because god did she not really have a romantic life) are the only connections she knows. Her life had been volleyball, Raven, and family. So this is all she knows of interactions and relationships: volleyball is her one great love. Her family made her feel wanted, understood and supported her no matter what, and raven was the person she trusted the most. A true friend and teammate. That’s how she understood her world. Those are relationships. This. Whatever this is with Lexa is entirely unprecedented.

It was Lexa’s warmth. Her quiet reassurances. Her quirks. Like she’d only eat the middle of French fries when they snuck out and indulged in boardwalk fare without Gustus’ knowledge. Her gentleness. Lexa had a mean spike when she didn’t tame it. Which wasn’t very often. Because Clarke now,knew Lexa was a peacemaker at heart. Kind and fluid in her generosity. Thoughtful.

Clarke began to read Lexa fluently. Understood her. They could speak to each other on the court without opening their mouths. And most of their communication off the court was through tactile means. A touch. A brush. A light stroke on the arm. Clarke loved Lexa laugh more than anything. A rare treat but a delicacy in its own right.

Clarke grew to know Lexa’s idiosyncrasies. Her habits. Subconsciously. Intentionally. She could never be sure. But she knew that no matter how sweet Lexa could be, she could always hold her own against Clarke.

And maybe that dichotomy is what kept her up nights. The rock and the rancor. The tenderness and the tempestuousness. She’d spend all hours of the day and night wondering what Lexa was doing. Or she’d find herself in a previously undiscovered part of the mansion and she would turn the corner and Lexa would be there and greet her with an instant smile.

That’s where she finds herself now. Subconsciously seeking out Lexa in what Clarke knows is Lexa’s favorite room. Standing on the precipice of the black and grey marble floors holding a glass of ice water.

Lexa is curled up on a chair reading a book. One of the two hearths in this cavernous room is lit. Casting a ubiquitous red glow. Though the fire is not entirely warranted during late fall in California, she finds it welcoming. She’s not sure if it’s the fire or Lexa presence that sends a cascade of warmth throughout her body.

“Hi.” Clarke calls softly.

“Clarke.” Lexa turns, fixes her eyes on Clarke, and promptly shuts the book, the reflection of the fire in her green irises send another sliver of warmth through Clarke’s body.

 “Can I sit with you?”

“Of course” Lexa gestures to the large leather couch adjacent to her but before Clarke can stop herself she’s squeezing in next to Lexa in the large but still not big enough for the two of them arm chair.

Lexa lets out a tiny whine but quickly shifts to accommodate Clarke. “You’re such a pain in the ass, ya know?”

“I know.” Giving an extra push with her knee into Lexa’s gluts. “Sometimes literally” she says when Lexa lets out an exasperated ouch. “What were you reading?”

“The Little Prince.” Lexa says it with a glint in her eye. Clarke knows that look. She’s loves that look. It’s pure mischief. She loves the playful side of Lexa. She loves all the sides of Lexa.

Clarke realizes what Lexa is thinking. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare fucking say it woods.”

Lexa pulls a pinched thumb and finger across her mouth. Her lips are sealed. Clarke sends her a harrowing, but spirited glare. And Lexa starts to smile, but her eyes widen dramatically as if she can’t breathe. As if she is choking. Clarke starts to panic. Until Lexa’s starts to cough. And something that sounds suspiciously like princess wheezes from her mouth in a faux cough.

“Asshole.”

Lexa laughs heartily. “I’m just kidding, Clarke. I don’t think you are a princess or spoiled. You’re a hard worker.”

They shift in the chair. So tightly encased in each other and the temperamental leather that it’s hard to breathe let alone move. Neither of them seem to mind. The cracking of the fire continues its descant. Oblivious to the symphony the other two occupants compose.

Lexa picks up her book again. The page rustling in a staccato tempo every time she turns one. Clarke hums a syncopated melody absentmindedly. The tinkling of the ice cubes swirling in her glass. The stretch of leather when one of them adjust their position. A subliminal stroking of a thumb here. A nudge further in there. They are in time. They are a symphony. They are in sync.

When Clarke realize just how beautiful the music they had been making is, she startles out of her reverie. She’d fall off their chair if she wasn’t wedged into Lexa.

Lexa knows immediately something wrong and sets her book down on the table beside them.

“What’s the matter? Are you worried about the match?”

Clarke hides her fear behind something that’s supposed to be a laugh but comes out more of a snort. Lexa smiles and shifts to the couch giving Clarke room. Clarke welcomes the space now. Needing more of it. To distance herself from her favorite paradox.

“So you’re not worried?” Lexa asks.

“No, Lexa. I’m fine. We’re going to be great.” Clarke stands and sets her ice water on the mantle. And calmly puts another log on the fire. She moves to go back to the empty chair, but Lexa touches Clarkes arm and gestures for to sit down on the couch.

Lexa’s eyes search her face. She knows by now that Clarke is not always forthcoming with her emotions, masking them with others. “Are you sure, Clarke?”

“Yes.” Because she really is ok. She’s much more concerned with this other feeling she feels when Lexa is around. The one she can’t name yet.

“Do you know who we are playing against?”

“Knowing Gustus, he’ll probably set us up against the toughest players he can find.” Clarke scoots closer to Lexa not realizing it. She pushes forward into the brunette’s space and subconsciously swipes a finger down Lexa’s arm. She only realizes what she’s done when Lexa shivers and goosebumps trail behind her finger. “What about you?”

“Not a bit worried. I played with Anya for as long as I can remember. She’s my sister. And I never felt more in sync with anyone than I do you. We’ll be fine.” Clarke’s spine straightens and she turns away.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, watergun,” She smiles wanly. “It’s just…I’m glad we’re playing together. Now. So don’t ever doubt that. I just get a little sad sometimes that it’s not Raven beside me.” This time Lexa is the one that turns away. “No, Lexa. Don’t start. Don’t. Just let the guilt go, okay?”

“Okay. I just don’t think I could take it now…if you still blamed me. I don’t think I could go back to the way we were.” Her eyes are full of truth and the vulnerability that Clarke revels in. Somehow Lexa stills feels safe enough to share her fears despite the crap Clarke put her through.

Clarke smiles and rubs Lexa arm this time on purpose. To reassure the brunette that she feels the same.

It happens quickly. And in slow motion. The space between them is nearly gone. Clarke sees Lexa eyes flicker to her lips. She can’t stop her own eyes from doing the same. Taking in the full pink lips. Desire and warmth and hope filling her all at once. In all the time that Clarke has known Lexa, she wanted to kiss her. She’s been attracted to her since the moment she saw her. But everything else hits her at that moment. This is not just lust. She wants to kiss Lexa so she knows how special she is. How special she makes Clarke feel. That she trusts her. That Clarke gets Lexa. And Lexa gets Clarke in ways nobody has before. It feels beautiful and splendid. And overwhelming. Like Lexa could change everything. She wants to kiss her because Lexa is important.

She may not have a precedent for her relationship with Lexa, but she knows there is a name for it, a name for what she feels. Lust maybe.

It is the draw, the curious prickling draw, that makes this feeling dangerous. The tide. The pull. It has caused conflicting emotions in Clarke. Far more than guilt. What does someone who has spent their entire life at the beach do when they feel the current pulling them to sea? Swim against it.

She pushes off the couch faster than she had ever pulled herself up from a dig. “Goodnight Lexa. Sleep well.” She turns on her heels is out of the room Leaving a stunned Lexa behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GODDAMN IT, CLARKE! Get your shit together.
> 
> Anyway, feedback yes? It will make me a better writer which will only increase your reading enjoyment. I don't wanna be a stupid tuna so let me know if I accidentally write gibberish.
> 
> And as always thank you for being here. No matter what you do or don't do here. Your all amazeballllllls!


	10. Touch

“Are you ready?” Anya asks.

“Yea. I’m ready.” Lexa says taking a step onto the sand.

“How about after the scrimmage? Are you ready to come home? Everyone misses you. Thanksgiving is going to be epic. And Christmas…I can’t wait. Two months of having you to myself. How many matches are in the scrimmage?”

“Four. I think. I’m glad Gustus agreed to give us time off and I’m excited to spend time with you. It’s just…”

“You’re just going to miss Clarke.”

“No.” Lexa adjusts the straps on her bikini top lining them up. Something to do with her hands. To hide her real feelings. “Ugh. God. Is it that obvious?”

“Since the very beginning, Lex. Game, set, match. You adore her. Even when she was being a totally irrational sow.”

Lexa laughs. “I’m a stupid tuna.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She says with a sad smile. “It doesn’t matter how I feel. She doesn’t feel the same.”

“How do you know?”

“We almost kissed.”

“And?”

“She walked away.”

“Oh.”

“Yea.

“I’m sorry, sis.”

“It’s for the best anyway. I don’t wanna ruin our partnership.” Lexa picks up her towel and starts to make the journey toward the court. Anya falls in step beside her.

“Once you win this scrimmage, I’m going to fly you home and I’m going to get you drugged up on tryptophan and mashed potatoes and you can have a chance to move on from your feelings.”

Clarke walks by. An intense furrow in her brow. “I hope you’re ready, Woods.” She doesn’t make eye contact. She doesn’t even give Lexa a light tap on the ass, a custom between them.

“Heels up, Griffin.” Lexa says with a tentative smile trying to get back some levity. Some of that comfort . But nothing. No ‘Fuck you, Woods.” Not even a similar sassy retort. Maybe Clarke is just nervous.

“Oh.” Anya says softly. “Ok. I get it.”

“Yea. She hates me again.” Lexa says. “Me and my dumb feelings I should never have even gotten close to kissing her.”

Anya chuckles. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it, Lex. Things are going to be fine.” Giving her sister her most reassuring smile. “You got this.”

* * *

 

They don’t got this.

The first match was a joke. They were obliterated by their opponents. Peyton and Stermer ended the whole thing in a matter of 20 minutes. Yawning halfway through the second set.

The second match isn’t going much better. Peyton and Stermer are powerful, talented players, but they aren’t better than her and Clarke. Of that Lexa is sure, but what she is not sure of is how to fix this. How to find their chemistry again. How to get through to Clarke.

Gustus had tried to help. In his own Gustus way. Called them floppy pelicans. Lexa wasn’t even a watergun, but a trickling hose. Clarke was a heifer frozen by the Trans-Siberian snows.  At the height of his frustration he shouted in Russian at them. At that, Indra looked away not wanting to translate. Anya stood on the sideline watching this disaster unfold with pursed lips. Lexa tried soft words and a kind smile. Just like she did when Clarke got frustrated in parctice. But Clarke had flinched away and muttered, “I’m fine. Just hit the ball harder.”

Lexa wants to. But she’s so very tired. She wants to not hold back. In so many ways.

Last night had there had only been tossing and turning. The lack of sleep. She couldn’t get Clarke out of her mind. Which is not anything new When she finally did fall asleep, watercolor versions of Clarke’s features pervaded her dreams. Blonde hair and blue eyes weren’t ever far from her day dreams either. Clarke was everywhere. When she would roam the mansion somehow Clarke would be there. When she was mad at herself for losing control somehow Clarke was there to comfort her. In ways no one else could. When Lexa’s jaw would clench and she wanted to shut down, Clarke was there offer a soothing touch and a ridiculous snide remark about how Lexa was taking herself to seriously. It was like a dream come true. Perhaps that is how she infiltrated any and all dreams, day or night, that Lexa had.

But right now they are living a nightmare. They are losing terribly. Lexa is running on fumes, though that never stopped her from pulling out a win before. But Clarke is being weird. Well, it’s not anything she hadn’t done before. Throwing tantrums. Kicking the sand. Not looking Lexa in the eye. She’d seen it all before. However, Lexa thought they had overcome this.

Match point again. Clarke is staring through the net at their opponents. Fury in her eyes. Lexa just wants to touch Clarke again. To tell her this is ok. They’ll figure it out. But Peyton sends the ball spinning over the net. Clarke digs determinedly. Lexa taps it over on the second touch. Stermer finds it and sets Peyton. It’s over.

Peyton walks up lazily to her partner. “Wow. They fucking suck.” She says to Stermer.

Stermer high-fives her and laughs. “Ha, yea. It was a waste of our time coming down here.”

Peyton brushes a little sand off of her shoulder and pulls her jet-black hair out of its pony tail. “At least the weird Russian is paying us to kick their ass.”

Clarke is a flurry of sand and anger as she charges the net at full tilt. Lexa scampers after her and grabs her just in time by the back of her bikini top and holds her back. Stopping her just short of the net. “Clarke. Don’t.” She wraps strong arms around her. To soothe and secure her as Clarke continues to struggle to get to the smug pair.

“Fuck you, Woods.” She says as she shrugs Lexa off of her.

“Time for lunch!” Gustus declare, rushing forward “We will return to this...whatever this is…after some chicken, yes?”

Lexa can hear Peyton and Stermer laughing wickedly all the way up to the mansion. Anya approaches, but Lexa shakes her head and signals for her to meet her back at the house as well. She turns back to Clarke.

Her blonde hair curtains her face as she stands at the net, head hanging low. Her chest is heaving and her fingers are wrapped around the white band at the base of the netting. Her knuckles flash back and forth between pink and white. Pliable tendons on the top of her hand ripple with each contraction of her grip.

“Clarke.” They are alone. Not even the squawking of insidious sea gulls to distract them. She moves forward tentatively. Unsure if she should touch her again. But that’s all she can think to do. She wants to hold Clarke. Lift her up. Carry her. Make her feel light again. Take away whatever is bothering her. “Talk to me please. We can fix this.” Her fingers stretching out. She is one breath away from losing herself when she loses her breath entirely.

Clarke whips her around quickly by the shoulder straps of her bikini top and presses Lexa into the net. Lexa’s arms serpentine through the flexing perpendicular cords of the webbing. Gripping at them with urgency to steady herself as Clarkes hands slide up to grip at the flexing cords in Lexa’s neck, securing Lexa in a heated kiss.

Lexa shifts trying to maintain contact and free herself from this blasted net. Noses slip past each other as both women move within the kiss. Tongues slip past lips. Clarke has pushed entirely into Lexa. Lexa can feel the net ripping into her back. But she can’t care. Clarke is kissing her and it’s like the only thing she needs. Not air. Not Sleep. Just Clarke.

Then the pressure is gone. Lexa chases after her with an open, hungry mouth, but is stopped by the restraining net. Clarke swipes a thump across Lexa’s lip, removing the evidence of their kiss before she takes a single finger and smears her own lips. Which broaden into a smile. “There. It’s fixed. All better.” Clarke says slyly. Then she moves to help a dumbfounded Lexa out of her precarious position. “You look like a stupid tuna caught in the net like that. Come on. I’m starving. Let’s go get some lunch.”

Confused as ever, Lexa follows Clarke back up to the mansion.

* * *

 

It _is_ all better.

They shut up Peyton and Stermer real quick after lunch. The first set ended at 21 – 12. And the second set was closer once Peyton and Stermer realized that Clarke and Lexa had got their shit together.

When it was all over the opponents stormed of the court complaining without so much as a handshake.

“Good riddance, Moaning Myrtles.” Gustus says striding up to his pupils looking towards the retreating figures of Peyton and Stermer. When he reaches Clarke and Lexa, he sighs heavily. “You made them cry more than girl who broke up with significant other chopping onions, yes?” He clasps a strong hand to each of their shoulders and pulls them into a hug. “You have earned your break now. But first we will celebrate your not so complete failure, Yes? Yes” His big grin shines through his wiry beard. “To the vodka!” He says as he pulls them back to the mansion. Anya and Indra in tow.

* * *

It was a short celebration. Lexa had a flight to catch. As Anya called a cab, Lexa gathered her things and said her goodbyes to Indra and a very happy, drunken Gustus. He hugged her for a rather long, uncomfortable amount of time.

He gives her one last binding squeeze. “Whatever you said to princess worked” He drops his arms and steadies himself by resting his chin on her shoulder and whispers into her ear. “Or what you didn’t say.” He pulls back and sways on his feet a little bit, a bent, but knowing smile on his face.

Lexa looks at him quizzically. “You saw.”

He shakes his head up and down fervently. “I saw. But!” When his head stills, a serious look warps across his features. He taps his temple. “ _I_ am not stupid tuna.” He quickly throws his arms to the side and jerks back and forth violently as if caught in an imaginary net. He then pulls his hands to his neck and flaps them like fins. When he finishes laughing and before he falls over he pulls her back into another awkward hug. “I knew before I saw you kiss. It is ok, Watergun. You like her. Just do not let it get in the way again”. He taps her temple this time. “Dumb mussel, be happy clam.” He laughs uproariously as he stumbles away. “See you in January. Enjoy the giving of the thanks. Goodbye, happy clam.”

* * *

 

She doesn’t know where Clarke is. But somehow, just like always, Lexa’s feet carry her and she finds Clarke anyway.

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye?”

Clarke is on the second floor porch. She’s staring out at infinity. The sunset rippling down the horizon in golden and ginger rivulets. Stretching out in either direction as far as the eye can see. She doesn’t look away when she says, “Goodbye, Lexa.”

This back and forth. It feels worse than when Clarke flat out hated her. “Clarke, about the kiss. I’m sorry.”

“Lexa, you have to stop apologizing for things that we both took part in. It was just a kiss. We’re attracted to each other. We’re adults. We can admit it. It’s just lust, Lexa. Something had to be done so we could focus again. It worked. Okay? Just let it go.”

It hurts worse than she could imagine. “Okay, Clarke.” It feels like a lie. To accept it. To let those words tumble from her mouth.

Clarke’s expression shifts. From determination to almost abjection. Grief. But only for a second before she flashes Lexa a soothing smile. “Have a great break, Woods. See ya when you get back.”

“You, too.” She turns and with one last glance she opens the sliding glass door. “Goodbye, Clarke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Clarke. No. No. No. It's not just fucking lust, ya dingus. You love her dammit.
> 
> Oh, Lexa. It's okay to lose it a little and tell Clarke she's being a dingus. And to smack that goddamn volley ball into the sand. Moral of the story: DON'T HOLD BACK.
> 
> Anyway, raise your hand if you have used Stupid Tuna as an insult in your every day life at some point this past week. I did and it was glorious. Now, put your hand down and leave a comment. :)  
> Someone suggested we make stupid tuna t-shirts. Lol. Ok. Anyone interested? Come on over to tumblr paintthebrain and tell me all about it. Also, while you're there check out the Clexa edit firerebel did for this fic. The tag for anything about this on my tumblr is #touch or carry and #TorC.
> 
> This story will be taking a brief hiatus. It will be returning October 2nd. I'm going be focusing primarily on Gunbitch and A Relationship Anthology for the next two weeks since they have been on extended hiatus while I work through them (Both stories are at crucial points). Maybe check them out?
> 
> Wow. That's a lot of news. Oh well.  
> As always, THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE. And for being such wonderful humans and happy positive clams.


	11. Chapter 11

“Clarke!” Raven pushes her wheelchair up the street toward her best friend. Arms pumping frantically under her light jacket.

“Hey!” Clarke turns away from the water and looks down the pier. When Raven stills, she gingerly sits in on her lap and wraps her up in a tight hug. Peppering her face with dramatic kisses.

Raven mocks disgust and pushes Clarke’s chin away with her whole hand. “Gross, Clarke.” Raven drives forward toward the end of the dock. Easily carrying both of their weights. She lets out a grunt of a laugh as she navigates over creaky planks. “Glad to have you home.”

Clarke wraps her arms tighter around Raven’s neck as they continue to their favorite spot. A tradition. “I was only a couple miles down the beach. You could have come.”

Raven comes to a halt at the end of the pier. “I wanted to. But I’ve been focused. I’m so close, Clarke. I’ve got a real shot”.

“Shot at what?”

“Walking.”

“Raven! That’s awesome!”

Raven stands from her chair and braces herself on the pier’s railing. Clark steadies her from behind as she lowers herself to the wood. Raven grabs her less that agile legs and tips them over the side one at a time. Her brace creaking as her legs dangle freely in the air. Clarke sits next to her. Kicking her legs every so often. Just as she has always done. She folds her arms on to the lowest railing. Resting her chin flatly on her hands.

She turns her eyes toward the volleyball courts. The first place she fell in true and utter love. An undeniable attraction to the sport. A few dedicated players are volleying back and forth. It’ a cool overcast day. A sharp breeze whips the hair around their faces and shoulders. Strong enough to throw the ball off course from time to time. “I’m really happy for you, Raven.”

Raven puts around her. “Thanks, Clarke. This time next year I won’t need that stupid chair. But I’ll probably always need this.” She reaches down and raps a knuckle on her brace.

Grief and regret hit Clarke again. Raven turns to her a smile on her face. A smile that falls as soon as she sees the tears stinging Clarke’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Raven implores, searching Clarke for the answer. She already knows she’s going to get the brush off. She already knows Clarke will try to deflect. "Clarke tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.” Clarke says voice breaking. Clarke stiffens her lips into a smile and shakes away the tears. “So thanksgiving with my family again?"

“My parents are still dicks. So yea.”

Clarke laughs until it fades into the breeze. They sit in silence for a time. Until the sun appears briefly from behind the clouds, before it starts its descent into the sea. The brave volleyball players are packing up when Raven speaks. “You saved me you know. Sitting here as kids, planning our futures as pros. You showed me I could be something outside of what my family taught me to be.” Clarke’s shoulders lift up in the act of a sob to meet Raven’s head as she rests it on the blonde’s shoulders. “I regret nothing. Not meeting you. Not playing with you. Nothing. Please say that you can learn to do the same. Clarke clutches onto Raven’s hand like a lifeline.

“Ok. Raven. Ok.” Raven nods approvingly causing Clarke’s shoulders to dip with the momentum. The act ignites something in Clarke. Bravery. An intense overwhelming need to speak the truth.

“I kissed Lexa.”

Ravens head is off Clarke’s shoulder in an instant. A hand shakily running through her jet-black locks. “Oh crap.” Raven is squealing with glee internally. Clarke doesn’t kiss. Let alone tell. This is some pretty serious shit. She had known Clarke had the hots for her teammate, but this. This is a whole other thing. She knows she must tread carefully. She knows the chaos this kind of feeling causes in her best friend.

“What?”

Raven smiles. Nevermind. She’s gonna go in both guns blazing. “I fucking knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“You like her. Like really like her. Can’t-stop-thinking- about-her-want-to-have-little-pro-volleyball-players-with-her kind of like her.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

Clarke pulls her windbreaker closer, fighting the chill that seeps in with the setting sun. “I can’t. I can’t like her.”

“I know. You’re going to push her away or sabotage it. You always do that shit when you have a ‘big feeling’.” Raven says, making air quotes.

Clarke hangs her head, hair in her face, trying desperately to mask her emotions as much as possible. But she’s come this far. “It’s really fucking scary.” She shakes with the breath she takes, exhaling as she resolves herself to forget about her feelings. “I just can’t.”

“Clarke.” Raven tilts Clarke’s chin with her fingers, meeting her eyes. “Lexa is a really good….she _seems_ like a really good person. And I think she likes you. You know. The same way. The gay way.” Raven releases her touch when Clarke lets out a boisterous snort. “You don’t have to marry the girl. Not yet anyway.” And Raven laughs. Because she’s pretty sure that if Clarke can get her shit together, Lexa is it for her.

“Not helping, Raven. I don’t need more pressure.”

“Oh come on, Clarke.” Raven gives her a slight nudge with her shoulder. “Just kiss her a few more times. Ask her out. Text her back. Touch her inappropriately. Do whatever you need to do to convince yourself you _can_ do this. That liking somebody is not just a giant fucking anchor that will pull you to the ocean floor and drown you.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Me? You’re the one making a big deal out of this.”

“Whatever.”

“Whatever indeed. It’ll be fine. Just go easy. Go slow.”

“You know I am not either of those things.”

“Yea, I know. But you can do this Clarke. Now, come on. Abby said it’s my turn to pick out the turkey.”

Clarke laughs. “You know. I think I picked the best one when I picked you.”

“Asshole.” Raven pulls herself to standing and plops in the chair.

“You love it.” Clarke says grabbing the handles and pushing her back down the dock.

“I do.” Places a gentle hand over Clarke’s as they head home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dawwww. They're just the best of friends.
> 
> Yay! I'm back and on time as promised. High-five me. Also I should be publishing a whole boat load of stuff (including more chapters for this fic) in the coming weeks. Those of you reading A Relationship Anthology will be happy to know there's a bunch of stuff coming. And those reading Gunbitch there should be another chapter up by tomorrow. And those of you reading neither? Maaaaaybe give 'em a try? *Bats eyelashes* *accidentally trips over something because I can't see and because I am so not smooth*
> 
> Anyway, this and the next chapter are just a look into Clexa's thoughts and feelings. Gustus will be back in chapter 13 with a surprise. And more insults, of course. XD
> 
> As always THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE
> 
> come on over to my tumblr to see the cover art for this. http://paintthebrain.tumblr.com/


	12. Chapter 12

Her family is all around her. Anya’s been casually flicking peas and various small menu items at her since dinner started. Her mother and father are almost gracious and sensitive to her mood for once. Her parents medals hang proudly on the wall next to Lexa and Anya's. The legacy secure for now.

Lexa’s happy to be home. She knows she is. And she hopes her parents know it too, but they can sometimes be a bit much. They keep asking her about training and her new partner. Her father asks if she's good enough. Her mother tells her to sit up straighter. They inquire about her coach. At that Lexa smiles. But the inquiries about Clarke are probably what has pushed her further into herself. She’s surrounded. Family. Friends. Family friends. Aunts and Uncles. And all Lexa can wish for is just one person. Just Clarke. To just be able to turn and say one thing and hear Clarke’s laugh again.

The kiss.

The kiss also uncomfortably plays in Lexa’s movie theater mind while the din carries on around her. Lexa is looking for the lie. Hoping that she can find the error in Clarke’s words. It's not just lust. They are friends. They are good friends. They are attracted to each other. To Lexa that means more than lust. It means everything. She wants to marry her best friend. If she marries. it will be someone who is her best friend. The clinking of porcelain and glasses pull Lexa from her disjointed reverie. Her family is breaking away from the table. Some start the cleaning process. Some are starting the annual Thanksgiving tradition of charades.

Lexa is still stuck in that moment that happened over a week ago. Lexa has come at it from every possible angle. And maybe Clarke is right. Maybe it was just a heated kiss between friends. A simple touch of lips. Lexa has no real proof to hold on too other than the feeling that her and Clarke are simply more than lust. More than a chemical reaction. Lexa pushes food around her plate. She’s barely eaten.

Clarke has barely texted. Barely commented on anything. No smart mouth replies to Lexa’s typical dry comments and observations.

Lexa feels something cool, thick, and wet smack and splatter across her face. A glob drips to the table as Anya snickers. Lexa reaches a slender finger and scrapes away the remnants of mashed potatoes clinging to her face.

Lexa whips her verdant gaze at her sister. Anya casts a wide grin and wiggles a spoon in the air, particles of potato whirl through the air. “You really should eat something, baby sis.” Anya says as she stands and rounds the table. “Thought I try and help you out.” She says with faux innocent as she exits to the living room.

“You call that helping?” Lexa calls out as Anya disappears behind the arch way to the living room. Other family members shouting out random names and phrases in their pursuit of victory in Charades. Lexa was born into a highly competitive family. Her parents various trophies glinting on the shelves as well as the medals on the wall as evidence to this.

Anya laughs until it evaporates into a mischievous smirk. “Yea, I just missed your mouth. My bad.” Her smirk broadens into a full mouth smile as she returns from the living room. “Here.” She drops a stack of Black Friday ads on the table. “You need your fuel. I can’t take on the throngs of inhumane holiday shoppers by myself.”

It’s been their tradition for as long as Lexa remember. Eat their body weight in turkey and then fight a bunch of people for things they didn’t really need. Lexa turns her stare to her nearly pristine plate. She doesn’t feel like doing anything. Let alone participating in a semi-organized bar brawl.

“Clarke.” Anya says reverently

Lexa’s head snaps up expecting to see those blonde locks. Those beautiful lips locked in a smile.

Anya steps forward and wraps a comforting arm around her sister and sits in the seat beside her. She pulls away and gives her sister a sympathetic look. “Still pining I see.”

“I’m not pining.”

“Oh yea?”

“Yea.”

“She admit she head over heels for you yet?”

Lexa looks shocked. “No. She said she’s physically attracted to me. It’s just lust. A product of our environment.”

“Oh.” Anya has been in a few predicaments with girls who hide behind one feeling to avoid another. “Do you believe that?”

“I don’t really have a choice. Besides a few fleeting moments where everything is magic, she’s never done anything to prove otherwise. I just have to accept it.”

“Or you can maybe try to explore it a little more? Maybe she’s afraid.” Anya coaxes gently. “Maybe hold on a little longer. Just relax and go with it. See where it takes you.”

“Ok.” Lexa says sarcastically. She doesn't believe for a second that it will matter.

“Lexa. Anya. Are you coming?” Their mother calls from the living room as another round of charades is about to start.

Lexa’s never been good at charades. She figures maybe now is a good time to start. She can pretend whatever what is going on between her and Clarke is less than it is. Then maybe one day she can let go of the silly notion that they are somehow meant to be more.

* * *

 

 

 

 

> **Salters** : Lisa Salters and Brian MacNamara here with the E:60 breakdown. The best stories in the wide world of sports in 60 seconds. Thanksgiving games have come and gone. With the Broncos suffering a devastating loss. But it’s Christmas time now. Some kids in need got a special Christmas surprise from Baltimore Ravens Tight End John Andre.
> 
> **MacNamara** : Andre dropped 18,918 dollars 2 weeks ago buying Christmas gifts for these kids. He gave 12 children from Parry County Child Protective Services in Maryland the opportunity of a lifetime when he allowed them to run through a Toys’R’Us for 87 seconds gathering as many toys and gifts for themselves as they could.
> 
> **Salters** : He payed the bill with a smile on his face. When asked why 87 seconds he simply pulled on his jersey highlighting his now infamous number, 87.
> 
> **MacNamara** : That really warms the hear this time of year.
> 
> **Salters** : It sure does, Brian. Speaking of warmth let’s take a look at Rio. We’re just about 20 months away. A few changes have been made to the next summer games. For example, Golf will make its triumphant return.
> 
> **MacNamara** : That’s right. And players of certain sports will be allowed to challenge judges calls with a video replay feature. More on that as it becomes available.
> 
> **Salters** : And that’s sports in 60. Join us after the break for a special interview with Power Forward for the Clippers, Eric Flemming.

 

* * *

* * *

Notes:

Ugh. There are probably so many mistakes in this chapter. But I was sick all week and then I had a preexisting date with my bff to disappear into the mountains this weekend. I hiked 7 miles with the flu yesterday. You can come check out pics of this adventure on my tumblr (#personal) or check out the cover art for this fic (#touch or carry) [here](http://paintthebrain.tumblr.com/). I'm exhausted fam, but I promise I'll properly edit this tomorrow.

So i guess updates for this fic are officially Sundays. Woot! 

What do we think? Bad Lexa? Good Lexa? Doesn't really have a choice Lexa? 

Anyway, as always THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE. I look forward to your comments! You are all super awesome spectacular piquant cinnamon rolls.

 


	13. Chapter 13

"Welcome back, little ducklings. You had good broken yes?"

Indra shakes her head. She is doomed to translate the intentions of others for the rest of her life. “Break, Gustus. You know that.”

“Ah yes, break. Of course. You come back from break not broken, yes? Put back together again.” His beard shifts with his amused chuckle.

 _No_ , Clarke thinks. Broken is probably more fitting. She didn’t mean to ignore the texts. She had missed Lexa. She missed her so much that when she saw her again she wanted to jump into her arms. Hold her and never let go. But she couldn’t make the leap. Afraid maybe Lexa wouldn’t be able to carry her weight. Instead she settled on a curt nod and tried not to wince at the hurt and confusion in Lexa’s eyes. Lexa couldn’t be hurt. She couldn’t. There were no feelings there. Not ones that would constitute hurt.

Lexa Woods would never have feelings for her like that.

Gustus clears his throat. “I have tool for toolbox. A strategy, maybe, yes? We only use if we need.”

“What are you talking about?” Clarke inquires rather hastily. A blunt turn from her thoughts.

Indra and Gustus exchange mischievous glances. Gustus strides to the middle of the court. “Are you ready, Indra?’

She nods and Gustus crouches into a ready position. She throws a lofty ball into the air. Gustus raises his hands above his head preparing to set the ball. His two index fingers and both thumbs make a perfect diamond. The ball reaches its pinnacle and descends quickly to Gustus’ ready hands. But he makes an error and the ball slips through the diamond. But he is still able to complete the set. However, it doesn’t matter. Clarke knows that a ref would probably blow the whistle on a set like that in a heartbeat.

The ball falls to the sand. Gustus is grinning and Indra’s lips quiver in a threat of a smile.

Lexa brows furrow in confusion “That’s the secret move?”

Gustus nods succinctly, no waver to his brilliant smile.

Clarke scoffs. “But that’s a carry!” Lexa nods, not looking at Clarke, confirming she agrees.

She’s not sure how, but Clarke is sure Gustus’ smile _grows_ even _bigger._

“Ha! Take the mask off blind raccoons and look again.” He readies himself once more. “Indra. Another please.” Indra picks up the ball and sends it rocketing skyward. Gustus squares his body with Clarke. “Watch these!” he says pinching his thumb and fore finger on each hand together in quick succession before making a diamond again.

 Clarke zeros in on the points where the fingers touch. Where the thumbs connect. This intersection is the strength in the set. That is what prevents the carry. Just like last time the ball hits Gustus’ fingers and splits the diamond. Another carry violation. But then she sees it. She processes and understands the move. His fingers don’t touch the ball until the very last second. Existing parallel to it. It’s a clean set. But only to someone looking closely would see it.

Apparently, Lexa understand the move too as she lets out a surprised “Oh.” Her features then twist in apparent concentration. Clarke would laugh at her adorable expression if they weren’t in some weird stalemate that she herself created. But then Lexa seemingly has an epiphany. “The video challenge!”

Gustus gives Lexa a hard slap on the back. “SMART tuna! Yes! Is it touch? Is it carry? They will not know. But we will.” His smile is positively beaming between the bristly strands of his beard. “Your opponents will be so focused on calling violation or asking for playback that they will not see you hit ball at their feet. Even the ref may call it. If he does, keep playing.”

“That’s actually kind of genius,” Lexa says.

“Even it’s kinda sketchy,” Clarke retorts.

“Indra?” Gustus inquires.

“Sketchy means dubious. Deceitful. Undefined. Illegal?” Indra throws out uncertainly

Gustus nods firmly “Illegal. Not illegal. It is grey area.” His brazen smile returns. “We only use if we need to get into heads of opponents, yes? Mess up their beat.” Indra opens her mouth to interpret what he means. But he corrects himself. “Rhythm. Or when they have gotten inside _your_ head, princess.”

“Hey!” Clarke starts to protest, but Lexa lays a soft hand on her arm and she instantly forgets Gustus’ implication that she is easily shaken. Because yea she is. Especially by Lexa. Well, fuck.

“See. Too easy. Burrowed into your head like I was mouse and you were soft cheese.” Gustus laughs.

“Whatever.” Clarke says turning away from them all and walking out to the center of the court.

* * *

 

Lexa is sweating. She can’t seem to get the move right. She can’t seem to get anything right. Clarke has been a bit cold to her. Not unfeeling. Just distant. Lexa wants their chemistry back. Even if she can’t have what she really wants, she just wants Clarke to trust her. To not be afraid to be…them. With the banter and the touching and laughter. She just wants that back.

She can’t focus. She has been trying and trying, but every time she tries the ‘Plinkov’ she ends up carrying it. Clarke got it almost right away. Lexa wanted to high five her or say good job or just _something_ to indicate that they are more than teammates. Even if it’s not the kind of _more_ Lexa wants.

Gustus’s voice rings harshly through the air. “Again, Watergun!” Lexa tries and tries and tries, but every time she fails. She can’t seem to let go fast enough. She has to hold on for some goddamn reason. She curses herself. She kicks at the sand furiously.

“Hey.” Clarkes voice is soft. Lexa instantly relaxes. “Don’t make contact with it until the last second. Let it slip through. Kinda like a caress. Gentle but without actually touching it.”

Lexa knows how to do that. It’s how she feels about Clarke.

She gets the move right on the next try.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! This fic’s version of the Pamchenko. 
> 
> Also, next chapter...man...I don't think I can't wait until Sunday to post it. How's wednesday sound? 
> 
> Ok so I LOVE LOVE LOVE comments, but I don’t always reply to them because 1. I feel kinda awkward unless you ask me a direct question. I’m not the type to say something just to say something. Which brings me to 2. I don’t like to keep putting the same things or repeating THANKS over and over again. So I’ve decided that I’ll reply to any comments where just thanks is appropriate with Gustus-like compliments. So at least you know that I got your comment and I appreciate it so much. I’m gonna go back and respond to the ones you all have already left. I hope that works for you, happy clams!
> 
> As always, THANKS FOR BEING HERE!


	14. Chapter 14

The wind is blowing steadily, kicking up grains of sand against Clarke’s skin. It’s oddly soothing. She leans her back up against the wall of the compound. The cold concrete anchoring her against the onslaught of the gusts. The floodlights illuminate the sand floating in the night making it look almost like a mist.

She can’t sleep. Seeing Lexa today after so long had truly unnerved her. She thought she had let go of the _things_ she was harboring. The feelings. The attraction. The curious prickling draw. But as soon as she saw her in all her goddess-like glory, the feelings came back. And being close to her without wanting to kiss her stupid was impossible. She’s sure of that now. She can’t let go. And she can’t hold on. “It’s just lust.” She says softly into the wind. It gets thrown back at her by the roar of it. Maybe if she says it enough she can convince herself.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there with the sand beating against her skin and the wind blowing her hair in every direction. She just knows she won’t be able to sleep anyway. Not without dreaming of her.

“Clarke?”

“Lexa.” Clarke gasps out. “What are you doing here?”  Of course Lexa is here. Of course Lexa wandered out of the mansion and, having innumerate directions to choose from, still picked the one that would lead her to Clarke. They always seem to find their way to each other. It’s weird. It’s beautiful. It’s terrifying.

“I was just going for a walk.” She says pulling her spine straight. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t sleep.” She looks over her shoulder at the mansion and then looks at Clarke. “What are you doing here?”

“Same. I couldn’t sleep either.”

“Oh.” Lexa shifts her weight on her feet. Unsure of what to do. “I’ll leave you to it then.” A gust of wind blows her hair out behind her. It’s like a movie and Clarke is transfixed.

“Wait. You…You can sit if you want.”

“Ok.” Lexa sits down and leans her back against the wall beside Clarke.

They sit in silence for a time. Lexa alternates between staring towards the dark ocean and staring at Clarke. Clarke catches her and smiles. “How was your break?”

“Boring. Yours?”

“I just hung out with Raven and my family.” Clarke catches a bit of hurt in Lexa’s eyes. Of course. She just admitted she had plenty of time to text Lexa or call her or anything but the cold shoulder. But Lexa lets it go.

“Is Raven ok?”

“Yea. She says she has a shot at walking again.”

Clarke expects Lexa to rejoice. Or to be surprised. But she doesn’t seem phased. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

The silence permeates again. Clarke is trying to find a million ways to apologize for the lack of contact over break. But she can’t find one that won’t leave her vulnerable and open.

This time Lexa breaks the silence. “I thought we were friends, Clarke.”

“We are, Lexa.”

“Then why….Why didn’t you text me back? I don’t understand.” The wind picks up again and Lexa has to pull her hair out of her face to make eye contact with Clarke. “Is this about the kiss?” Her eyes are shining in the floodlights.

“No.” She says, but she looks into those beautiful eyes. And it stops her. Makes her pause. She takes in everything that is Lexa. Her favorite Lexa. Vulnerable but commanding. It takes the lies from her mouth. “Yes.”

“But _you_ said it was just lust. You said it didn’t mean anything. That I should just let it go.” Lexa voice is trembling. Clarke has only ever seen her this upset when she messes up a rally.

It makes Clarke’s fear rise. And before she knows it she’s yelling again. The lies returning with the confrontation of just how much she cares. She panics. “And I meant it! I just froze, ok? I didn’t know what to do!”

“What to do?! I’m your friend. Just fucking talk to me! That’s all you had to do.”

Clarke is immediately taken aback by the curse word in Lexa’s mouth. But she can’t stop now. “Well, sorry, I’m not fucking perfect like you!”

Lexa cringes, but matches Clarke instantly. “Whatever you say, _princess.”_

Clarke is furious now. “Watergun!”

“Stubborn jerk!”

“Reckless prude!”

“I’m not a prude, you lackwit!”

The proximity is too much. The heat between them is too much. Searing. Like sitting next to the sun. Like liquid fire.

Clarke closes the little space between them and kisses Lexa. The heat boils them both. Clarke pushes into it with fervor. Slipping and sliding her way through the kiss. She can feel Lexa trying to slow it down. But she can’t let her. It would be too soft. Too intimate. Too close to exactly what she wants and she can’t have that. Not yet. Not ever.

Lexa pushes back. Ignoring Clarke’s need to keep the kiss intense. She needs to show her what they are. What they can be. But Clarke doesn’t relent and Lexa gives into the passion willingly. _Charades_ she reminds herself. If she can’t have it all, she can have some.

The match of wills ends up with Lexa in the sand and Clarke hovering over her, thighs slotted between thighs. Clarke pulls away. The pressure building in her belly. She wants more. More everything. _It’s just lust._ She reminds herself. But looking at Lexa breathless and disheveled her heartbeats frantically. She doesn’t care the reason she doesn’t want to stop. “Lexa?” She says breathily, the wind having died down for the moment. Everything is still. Except for Clarke’s hips that tentatively push down into Lexa. “Do you want this?”

Lexa shuts her eyes at the delicious pressure. She knows what Clarke is asking. Can they be this? Just this?

Close enough to touch but not enough to hold on.

Lexa nods and connects their lips again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stupid love sick dummies! What a mess. The enemies to friends to lovers tag is not quite accurate. The tag should probably read ENEMIES to FRIENDS to FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS BECAUSE MAYBE BEING IN LOVE IS JUST TOO GODDAMN SCARY BUT THEY CAN’T BE WITHOUT EACH OTHER to ENEMIES AGAIN BECAUSE OF COURSE THE FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS THING WON’T WORK BECAUSE THEY ARE SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT to EVENTUALLY THEY FIGURE THEIR SHIT OUT AND GET GAY MARRIED.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for being here! 
> 
> The next update for this will be monday and not sunday. I had some technical difficulties. So I'm a little bit behind my writing schedule.


	15. Fondle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Smooty Smooty let's fly to Djibouti.

Sand. Everywhere. Caked to every inch of their sun-kissed skin. A curious armor. Clarke continues her descant against Lexa’s thigh. Pushing her own thigh into Lexa’s core with meticulous abandon. Making sure both are getting what they need. Even if they can’t have all that they want.

 The mass and momentum of their entangled bodies pushes them further into the capricious material. Lexa takes each thrust in kind. Gripping wildly to Clarke’s waistband. Encouraging Clarke to beat against her like the waves beside them make their liquid music upon the shore. Lexa’s heart is in her throat. Her moans rip at her vocal chords. Trapped beside the trembling organ. In a battle to be the first one to be heard. An erratic pulse. A desperate claim.

Eyes twisted shut, Clarke thrusts. A slave to this need. This desperate need to be close to Lexa in any way she can. So many barriers. The sand. Each scrape of the layer of the sand between their bodies sends signals of pleasure and pain. Antipathy and concern. Euphoria and fear. Love and lust. Just as the dichotomous mixture becomes too much to bear, Clarke sees white pinpricks of light form behind her eye lids. She feels Lexa stiffen, crest, and quaver beneath her. A delectable moan surges up through Lexa’s long sculpted neck, bouncing the bubble at her throat. The sound makes the white lights quickly turn into a technicolor display of every shape and hue and texture as Clarke’s own climax cleaves through her.

They’ve collapsed onto each other. Clarke breathing in Lexa. Tucked into her neck. What comes next? She needed this. But now what? She stammers for an answer.

Lexa beats her to it. “Well, that was something.”

Clarke laughs. “I’ll say.” She lifts herself up and looks into those green eyes. Eyes she could drown in. “Lexa – I…”

“It’s ok, Clarke. I understand.” A soft reassuring hand comes up to cup Clarke’s cheek. “Just something we needed to get out of our system. We can go back to being friends.”

“Yea, but I don’t think I can. I’m mean friends yes. But with benefits?” Clarke says hopefully. She doesn’t even know why she says it. It sounds so stupid now that it’s floating between them. A lie. A half-truth.

Lexa’s mind screams to say no, but her heart. Her heart burst through the cartilage strands in her throat, speaking for her. She couldn’t deny Clarke even if she tried. “Yes, ok.” Her thumb swipes across Clarke’s cheek dislodging some sand that coated it.

Clarke looks relieved. She pushes herself to standing and pulls Lexa up to her. She places a cool kiss on the corner of Lexa’s mouth. “Good.” She turns, but Lexa grabs her and pulls her into an aggressive kiss. She sees the lights begin to blossom again. When Lexa releases her, Clarke is even more dazed and confused than ever before. She presses her forehead to Lexa’s to steady herself. She feels the heaviness seep into her. Suddenly she realizes just how sleepy she finally has become. “I better go to bed. Sleep! I better go to sleep now.”

Lexa chuckles softly. As they separate their imprint in the sand comes into stark relief with the floodlights. The channels their heels had dug as each had searched for purchase in the grit to keep the rhythm, to push for what they needed, are deep and concrete. Clarke blushes. Lexa smiles at it.

“I’m  going to continue to my walk. Good night.” Lexa turns towards the ocean and takes a step before looking back at Clarke and the channels in the sand. “Heels up, Griffin.” A mischevious glimmer in her eye.

Clarke’s response is natural. Conditioned. She doesn’t even think about it. “Fuck you, Woods.”

The mischievous glimmer in Lexa’s eyes reaches her mouth. A smirk blooms. She pivots again and is walking away when she calls over her shoulder. “I think you just did.”

* * *

 

The next day at practice, they play better than they ever have before. Their chemistry is something else entirely. Bigger then the big bang. It’s a whole new level they couldn’t reach before. Just a glimmer of it when they defeated Peyton and Stermer. After their first kiss. They both seem happier. Even Gustus is happier. He’s only called them an antagonistic animal name once. And Lexa swears she saw Indra smile.

Their friendship resumes. With the touching and the finishing each other’s sentences. And the laughter and the hard work. Clarke thinks it’s perfect. Lexa thinks it’s almost. It’s close.

Close enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is supposed to be a light and breezy rom com. But it occurred to me that some of the Clexa interactions can be interpreted as angst. I mean kinda? Does thier back and forth qualify as such? Maybe fun angst? Fangst? Fungst? I don't know. Somebody else come up with a portmanteau for that. I got ridiculous pet names and antagonistic animal insults to write.
> 
> Annnnyway, THANKS FOR BEING HERE! Especially if you keep making the decision to come back. It means A LOTTTTTT! 
> 
> Smoot is how i say smut. Yay! Solved that mystery for you. And woooooo! The heels-up-fuck-you-woods pay off. Cha ching!
> 
> Next chapter is a look into Indra's thoughts and feelings about all this. We'll also take a delve inside Gustus' brain. I hope we all make it out alive. See you Sunday, my beautiful effulgent majestic bald eagles.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not Gustus and Indra yet. Sorry.

Lexa is lulled from a comfortable sleep. She registers the gentle spatter of rain against the window. Though she cannot see them she knows the drops create mellow rivers down the pane. She feels warm and at peace and cognizant right now even in the darkness of early morning. She feels the sheets pull and the feeling becomes clear.

Clarke is asleep beside her. Lexa checks the clock. 5:32am.

9 days. 9 days of kisses. And hugs. Of fingers and tongue. And witty banter. 9 days of the best volleyball Lexa has ever played. 9 days since they started this. And not once has Clarke spent the night. That’s fine. Lexa knows what this is. Rather, what Clarke wants it to be. She made that clear with her words and her actions. They are friends. Best friends. That kiss and fuck each other. At face value, that is what they are. And Lexa is going along with it.

They never went to Clarke room to have sex. Always Lexa’s. And Clarke would sneak out in the middle of the night. Not this time. And Lexa’s heart swells. She peers though the darkness and ghosts fingers over Clarke’s hair. She knows she should wake Clark and allow he to sneak out under the cover of darkness like she has every night before this. She knows that Clarke will probably freak out in the morning. But what Lexa doesn’t know, only suspects, is why Clarke refuses to have sex in her own room. Why she insists they are just friends. Why she says it’s just sex, but Lexa feels like every time they touch they are whispering “I love you’s” with fingertips.

The more time Clarke spends telling Lexa they aren’t something. The more Lexa is convinced that Clarke is scared. That she doesn’t trust Lexa. Or trust Love. Or anything really that has the propensity to be so volatile.

She should wake Clarke.

But she doesn’t. Not yet.

Lexa wraps up Clarke in a warm embrace. How much longer can Clarke pretend they are less than they are? How much longer can Lexa fool herself into thinking she is right?

As long as it takes. As long as she can.

With a solemn sigh, she falls back asleep.

* * *

 

“Clarke?”

Clarke peeks a wary eye open. A dull grey light seeps its way into her consciousness. Her mind sweeps away the images of lost moments and potential happenings. Dreams. Only dreams. But her other eye opens and Lexa’s face swims into view. It’s just as beautiful as it had been seconds ago, when it had been enveloped in the pinks and blues and greens of her dreamscapes. Since she and Lexa had started sleeping together it was sometimes difficult to tell what was subconscious imaginings and what was real.

“Clarke. Hey. We better get moving if we wanna eat before practice.”

Clarke finally registers the soft grey light filtering in through the window. Streaks of water droplets pepper the glass. Suddenly, Clarke is overwhelmed with the urge to flee. To go crashing through the door without regard to decorum. But she remembers that she needs to be quiet, as to not make Gustus and Indra privy to their dalliances. Plus, Lexa looks a bit like an angel. And Clarke is stunned into inaction.

Lexa offers her a sleepy smile and Clarke is all but lost in it. She’s feeling more and more lost as she continues this, whatever this is, with Lexa. She still doesn’t quite have a name for it. Or rather, a name she is comfortable with. She knows Lexa is probably one of her favorite people ever. She knows that they are friends. Best Friends. With benefits. That’s as close as she can get right now without wanting to throw up under the immensity of it.

For someone who is exceptionally good under pressure, she is an absolute puddle under Lexa. In more ways than one.

Clarke masks her inner turmoil with sass and innuendo. “Why Miss Woods…. are you hungry? Didn’t you get your fill last night?” She sits up and throws a leg up over her teammate. She straddles Lexa and pushes her down into the mattress, leaning in precariously so her breasts leave a feather light touch against Lexa’s. She pokes a lascivious and suggestive tongue out from between her teeth.

“Yes, Clarke. I had plenty to eat last night. All of it very satisfying. None of it sustaining though.”

“Mmm. I don’t know Lexa. I think we were able to sustain it for a pretty long time. About 4 hours if I recall.” She nips as Lexa’s lips and grinds her hips down into Lexa’s bare abdomen.

Lexa presses her thumbs into the taught tendons between Clarke’s hipbones and her abdomen and Clarke instantly feels a sensuous spark consume her. She knows that Lexa knows what that does to her. Clarke seeks more pressure against harden abs.

“Sustenance, Clarke. I need food.” Lexa smiles a mischievous smile. Teeth gleaming even in the grey light.

Clarke can only blink slowly for a second. Recovering from the effect that Lexa has on her. She should be freaking out right now. She should have been trying to figure out a way to sneak back to her room. Before Gustus comes looking for them and finds them both here. But Lexa. Beautiful. Smart. Defiant. Talented. Kind. Lexa. Had taken hold of her this morning. Distracted her. And is she is just now realizing she’d completely forgot to be scared about how intimate waking up with Lexa is. And because of that, the fear slips in. “Fine.” Clarke submits with a furrowed brow. She scrambles up quickly and puts on her clothes from yesterday, preparing to make a covert exit.

“Well…I’d better make my stealthy escape.” Clarke says

She looks back at Lexa. In the few seconds it took Clarke to get dressed and make steps toward the door, Lexa’s features had become grim. What had looked like a hopeful smile became a pragmatic line across her face. “You don’t have to sneak, Clarke. Or leave for that matter.”

This puzzles Clarke. She’s not entirely sure what Lexa means by that. Does Lexa not want her to leave? “Why, Lexa?”

“Gustus. He already knows. About us.”

“What?! How?”

“He saw us kissing. After the scrimmage.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Well, I tried, but somebody didn’t speak to me for two months”

“Yea.” Clarke says with the decency to be slightly embarrassed.

“Yea.” Lexa say incredulously, a hint of her mischievous smile returning.

Clarke weakly tries to defend herself. “Ok, BUT. We’ve been back for like a week and a half. You could have said something sooner.”

“Kinda hard to tell you things with your tongue down my throat.”

Clarke snorts. “Fair enough.” Without thinking she leans over the bed and gives Lexa quick peck on the cheek. She’s halfway to the door when a stark realization hits her. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Lexa.” She does an about face. “If he saw us kiss. What if...” She shakes her hands out anxiously, as if willing the next words out of her mouth like a magician’s flare of fingertips wills various object to appear from nothing.

In an instant, Lexa is standing beside her, dragging Clarke’s hands into her own. “It was late. No one saw.”

“Yea, but…” She stills and relaxes into Lexa’s touch. Though her heart is still beating frantically with worry.

“But nothing Clarke. If Gustus saw I’m sure he would have some ludicrous nickname for us by now. We should probably stop being so careless about where we get it on.” Lexa tightens the embrace so that Clarke can rest her head on her shoulder.

“Get it on?” Clarke asks lightheartedly, finally relaxing. Assuaged like only Lexa can.

“What?”

“Who says ‘get it on’ anymore besides dudes that were in boy bands in the 90’s?”

“Backstreet’s back, alright!”

“Oh my god.” Clarke pushes away from Lexa playfully

“Everybody, yeaaaaa!” Lexa does an awkward attempt at the customary dance as she approaches Clarke again.

“Lexa stop, right now.”

Lexa  shakes her head and snakes her arms around Clarke’s waist. Lips almost brushing when she speaks again. “Nope. I want it that way.”

Clarke kisses her chastely. Forgetting again that Lexa is just a friend. And she shouldn’t kiss her just because she is being adorable. She forgets again that this kind of affection is only temporary. That they are only doing this until they don’t need to anymore. Until it’s out of their system.

“Tell me, Clarke. Am I your fire? You’re one desire?” It’s meant to be a joke, but the words hit home at that particular moment.

Clarke smiles like nothing is wrong and gives Lexa’s arms a squeeze before releasing their embrace. “See you in a few.” She walks back to her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Folks!  
> I’m on drugs!  
> The prescription kind. And they are completely approved by a doctor. I am far more cognizant than I was expecting. Anyway, I messed up my shoulder and neck at work. Whomp whomp. So as result my hand is not working quite the way it is supposed to, thus typing takes forever THUS updates are taking longer than I promised. I was already a slow typer to begin with. So thank you for your patience. With updates and if I accidentally go off on drug induced tangents or fuck up words too much. :D I tried to keep the tangents and the alien language to a minimum. If you’d like to see the stuff that was edited out, let me know. I can post them somewhere: probably on tumblr.  
> NOW, I know I promised some insight into Gustus and Indra’s thoughts about Clexa and their motivations as characters. But I got a bit ahead of myself. They’ll be in the next chapter. I think. I’m pretty sure. I don’t know. Is that a giraffe with a cutlass? IS THAT A PIRATE GIRAFFE? !!! [face plants onto computer] zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when you thought Gustus couldn't get any better... :) Also, this chapter is almost 3 times longer than my usual posts.

Gustus stares out the glass sliding door that leads from the kitchen to the courts. The sand is wet and pocked with tiny divots from the rain that came pelting through early this morning. It has stopped for the most part. Just a heavy mist blankets the courts, hiding the ocean from view. Miniscule ponds and puddles gather in the hollows between the mounds of sand.

“Good morning.” Indra says as she walks in with her typical muted aplomb. “Are they awake yet?” She inquires with one hand on the refrigerator door. Gustus keeps his eyes trained on where the ocean should be and shrugs. Indra opens the door and begins to rifle through the contents with her characteristic zeal. Which is not really zeal at all. More like even-keeled determination with a good helping of uncompromisingly stern should the situation call for it. It is his favorite combination. Except for maybe jam and fried cheese. And of course Clarke and Lexa.

He has come to care for them as a pair and as individuals. A great deal more than he thought he would. Perhaps it is because Clarke reminds Gustus of himself. And Lexa reminds him of Vasily. Clarke and Lexa’s chemistry reminds him of he and Vasily’s. More so now that Princess and Watergun are falling in love. Just like he and Vasily had all those years ago.

“So what do you think?” Indra says and she comes to stand beside him, taking methodical sips from a glass of orange juice.

“Happy and in love. Making little tuna babies.”

Indra sighs into the glass. “Gross, Gus. I meant the weather.”

“Ah. Yes, it is clearing for now. But storm clouds still ahead.”

Indra gives him a sideways glance. “Is that your forecast for them or the weather?” Indra says with that dichotomous tone he loves so much. He chuckles softly, remembering the complete and utter hurricane that was the start of he and Vasily’s relationship.

“Maybe both.” They hear movement above them. Voices and a soft padding of feet. Shortly thereafter Lexa’s door opens and closes, footsteps, then Clarke’s door opens.

Indra looks up at the ceiling. “Aren’t you worried about that at all?”

Gustus continues to stare out the sliding door. “Yes and no.” He turns his head to her. “I am not worried about our goal. Make best team. Best the world had ever seen. We make them better players. My worry is that _they_ make _each other_ better and they do not see it. Or understand it.” Gustus scratches under his beard and looks back outside. Indra nods in agreement and turns away, moving to the breakfast table.

Gustus quickly becomes swept up in a miasma of memories. Vasily made him the best and worse version of himself. If their relationship was a hurricane, then Vasily had been the eye of the storm. Vasily, with his hair like sunset. Skin that didn’t tan but instead became an interconnected collection of freckles. Gustus remembers their first fights. Gustus roaring with gale force. Vasily quietly absorbing each blow.

He remembers how Vasily would sometimes quake with anger, but never lash out. Unlike Gustus who took every opportunity to hurl insults and shout and scream, ripping at Vasily like the wind through the branches of a tree. Until Gustus had unleashed all his fury and dissipated. And then with one word. One single quiet word uttered, Vasily would strike Gustus to the core.

Gustus had been on the Russian Indoor Volleyball team for two years when Vasily joined. Vasily was immediately respected by the others for his quiet precision and determined wisdom. But there was just something about him that pushed Gustus’ buttons.

Those first few months had caused dissension among the team. Some would side with Gustus. And sometimes they would stand with Vasily. Whenever the team was at odds, it was because he and Vasily were. They had lost a lot of matches because of it.

The coaches and their teammates had tried to assuage their turmoil. But that was something only he and Vasily could do. Gustus tried. He even refrained from insulting Vasily for a whole practice.

But the hurricane finally tempered after Vasily had been brave enough to kiss Gustus one day. They had been arguing about serving styles when Vasily had surged forward and joined their lips. It ignited a fire deep within Gustus. A passion greater than anything he had felt when he was angry. Vasily soften the kiss and brought to light the true reason for their conflict.

They wanted each other. Greatly. Gustus wanted Vasily more than he wanted anything. More than his career. More than a gold medal. More than air. But Gustus broke the kiss and fled in fear. It didn’t matter what he wanted. Men were not allowed to love other men then. Especially in Russia. Especially in sports.

Even now it is still a struggle.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he had loved Vasily then. And, honestly, he still loves him now. Despite it all. Their love for each other had been staring them in the face. Gustus loved his quiet fury. His generous spirit. Even when he swore he hated him. Gustus wanted to stay away. Bury his head in the sand like a love sick ostrich and forget all about him. It wasn’t the feelings that scared him. Not really. It was Russia.

If they got caught, they would be punished with up to five years in prison. But ultimately he knew what he had with Vasily was worth the risk.

And they tried. They built a life together. Teammates that won Russia a gold in indoor volleyball. Later, after they retired from playing, they were “roommates” that coached the national team to a few medals. All the while they kept their relationship hidden. That caused a strain neither of them were prepared for. Because once you start lying to other people, it is very hard to stop the deception from seeping into your own relationship. Communication became a game of Russian roulette. Only instead of a bullet it was a lie in the chamber. Firing at will.

They had a brief reprieve from the deception in 1993 when homosexuality was decriminalized across the country. However, it became apparent that it was never going to be normalized and after twenty years their relationship just fell apart. Collapsing under the weight of their country’s expectations for them.

This time Vasily was the first to flee. He left one day and did not come back. Gustus grieved. But ultimately resolved to move on. He continued to coach indoor for another year or so. But without Vasily beside him any victory felt empty. He realized he needed a fresh start. And finally decided to venture into coaching beach volleyball.

The rain picks up again as the memories continue to cascade through his mind. Each falling as steady and sure and real as the drops outside. An army of images. A war of recollections.

“Fries.” Indra breaks through his remembrances like a general through an opposing front line.

Gustus lets the liquid lines of Vasily’s face fade from his mind, shaking his head slightly to excise the memories fully. “Fries? For breakfast?” His accent is thicker than normal.

“No that is the name for a ‘tuna baby’ as you call them.” She accentuates the peculiar euphemism with an acerbic tone. “A fry.” A hint of a smile burgeoning in her eyes only.

He gives a reverent chuckle. “English is an odd language.”

Suddenly there are soft footfalls in the hallway. Stunted giggles echo with each step.

“Ahh. The sleepy heads are here.” Gustus declares. “Good morning, Love Rabbits.”

“Good morning.” Clarke and Lexa chorus together as they cross the threshold into the kitchen. Both too enthralled with each other to fully register Gustus’ term of endearment for them at that moment. They reluctantly separate. Clarke grabs a granola bar from the pantry and unwraps it in one velvet movement. Lexa shifts to the counter to prepare her cereal.

“Finally pulled apart, yes?” He chides. “No longer stuck together like sticky magnets. Sticky, syrupy magnets.”

Indra gives a puff of air through her nose that could almost be interpreted as a laugh.

Clarke gives an indignant grumble and continues gnawing on her granola bar. Lexa looks up briefly from her struggles with a particularly stubborn box of Grape Nuts. She wants to roll her eyes at him, but she is too tired. Thanks to Clarke.

Gustus laughs at their stony expressions. “Ahh. Young love.”

Clarke coughs violently. Bits of oat and fruit spraying across the kitchen. In a second, Gustus is there, slapping a giant hand on her back, her voice is a rasp when she manages to speak again.

“we’re just friends.” She says, clearing the last particles from her throat.

Gustus’ brows furrow in confusion. “I do not understand. I do not do with my friends what you do with each other.”

“What Lexa and I do off the court is not any of your business. Her tone quickly finding its way from raspy to menacing.

Gustus and Clarke narrow their eyes at each other. He grits his teeth. “I did not mean the sex, _princess_. I mean the… _serdtse glaza._ ”

 Clarke’s steely expression wavers for a moment.

“Heart eyes.” Indra translates finally.

Gustus nods. “Friends do not look at each other like you look at, Watergun. And the way she looks at you. Like you are last slow cow in Siberia. And she is hungry, frail Russian eater of meat.”

Clarke scoffs, but Gustus can see her try to surreptitiously gauge Lexa’s reaction to his proclamation. “We don’t look at each other like that.”

Typically, Lexa enjoys watching this match of wills between Clarke and Gustus. But this may be too much for Clarke to confront all at once. She catches his eye just as he goes to speak again and gives a quick, precise shake of her head, indicating to him not to pursue this any further.

Gustus closes his mouth. The truth of Clarke and Lexa’s situation finally hitting him. Like he and Vasily all those years ago, they refuse to see what they really mean to each other. “Stupid stubborn ostriches.” He huffs out, just as the rain comes pelting down again, the wind rattling the window.

“Fine.” He admits defeat for now. They are not ready. Gustus knows what that feels like. The weight of a love like that. It is hard to carry.

A smirk stretches across his face. He will give them time. Teach them to hold a load like that. “We will train inside today. To the weight room, ostriches!”

* * *

A steady clank reverberates throughout the weight room as Clarke plows through reps on the triceps bar. The stack of weights hitting their base with each furious up and down. She catches sight of Lexa out of the corner of her eye and the stack hovers in midair as the triceps bar hits her chest, stalling momentarily as Gustus’ words worm their way into her head. _No, it’s not possible_. She begins pumping furiously again. Trying to forget them. She doesn’t count the reps. She doesn’t need to. When she feels the ache in her triceps become too much to bear she lets the weights land one last time. She shakes her arms out to release the burning.

She desperately tries to avoid looking at Lexa. The extreme set had been enough to keep her from staring directly at her, but now with the ache dissipating and only a boring 40 minutes left on the treadmill. As she crosses the room to the machine and presses the start button, she can’t help but check Lexa’s progress.

Lexa is laid out on a mat in only a sports bra. Probably halfway through a hundred crunches. There is a fine layer of sweat stretched across her skin. Her abs flex and swell with the effort. They glow and shine even in the weak fluorescent lighting. They are like rare jewels set in a golden crown. Clarke thinks it’s fitting. Lexa is like royalty. Untouchable.

Except.

Clarke gets to touch her. She gets to stand, lay, and kneel beside the most wonderful person she has ever met and it makes her swell with a kind of joy she typically only feels when she plays volleyball. The fear quickly seeps in. Reminding her that this thing with Lexa, whatever it is, is only temporary. Once Lexa sees. Once Lexa truly knows her. Well, no one like Lexa would ever want to be with someone like Clarke. They are only doing this so they can focus on volleyball. On being better players. It doesn’t matter if Lexa makes her a better person.

But Clarke has her right now. In a small way she has her. And she’s going to take her. Just as soon as she is finished her run. She ups the speed on the treadmill, watching Lexa with keen, lust-filled eyes. And then suddenly the world falls away.

* * *

 

Clarke blinks rapidly, the fluorescent light burning her eyes as they struggle to focus on anything.

A shadow swims into view and Clarke is grateful for the relief from the searing luminescence. Each detail of Lexa’s face is still a blur, but Clarke would know that face anywhere.

“Clarke?” She sees the word come out of Lexa’s mouth, but the sound doesn’t match with the motion her lips make.

“Lexa.” Suddenly, Clarke can see and comprehend Lexa’s expression. She is instantly confused by the deep concern etched into her brow and especially confused by what can only be interpreted as love in Lexa’s eyes.

“You tripped or something. Flew right off the treadmill. It was a nasty fall. Are you ok?” Lexa continues to scan her for any signs of damage.

“I’m fine.” Clarke says, the pain finally registering in her temple. “Just a small headache.” She struggles to stand.

“Gustus is calling a doctor. Here let me help you.” Lexa slips and arm underneath the crook in Clarke’s knees and braces one under her shoulder. “I’ll carry you upstairs.”

Clarke quickly wiggles out of it. “Lexa, I said I was fine.” Her feet land on the floor and she steadies herself.

“It’s not that…” Lexa is ready. Seeing Clarke unconscious even just for that second, made her brave. She’s going to say it. She’s going to tell Clarke that she thinks about her all the time. That she thinks that what she and Clarke have is so rare and beautiful. That nothing compares to Clarke, not even volleyball. That seeing Clarke hurt, makes Lexa want to protect her above all else.

“I’d carry you anywhere, Clarke.” It’s not what she wants to say, but it’s a filtered version of what she means. It’s tentative and it’s what she thinks Clarke needs right now.

“A carry is a violation, Lexa.”

“Maybe in volleyball, but not in life, Clarke.”

“Volleyball is my life.” Suddenly Clarke is standing very close, trailing fingertips down her neck. “I promise I am fine.”

Lexa let’s out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, the breath she was going to use to tell Clarke everything. She fills her lungs again; she won’t hold back this time. She’s going to say it out loud. I love you. I love you. I love you. Her temper. Her foul horse-chewing-cud mouth. Her stubbornness. Her hubris. Tenderness. Intelligence. She loves it all. Every last piece of Clarke and she can’t imagine not ever feeling that way.

But Clarke nestles into her neck and the intimacy of the Clarke’s skin on hers reminds her of something she forgot to remember. _People get hurt when I don’t hold back._ Clarke sucks on her pulse point and Lexa tries to forget she’s in love. Her body shudders and she buries her feelings. She crests at Clarke’s fingers and falls into her arms and she makes herself believe that this all she needs. But Clarke looks into her eyes and Lexa swears she sees the ocean. The vastness that feels like forever. That feels like infinity. She wants forever with Clarke. She wants infinity. She can’t deny it.

But before she can make that confession, Clarke trails another suggestive finger down Lexa’s arm and she forgets to remember again.

“Why carry, Lexa, when a touch is so effective?”

“Clarke.” Lexa whispers, a melted warning.

“Lexa.” Clarke says as she pulls her in for a kiss. Both are instantly volleying for control. Pushing back and forth. They only pull apart when they hear a throat clearing.

“Gustus said to tell you a doctor will be by to check on you within the hour.” Indra says sternly. “But from the looks of it, you are just fine.” She turns on one heel and is back out the door of the weight room as quickly as she had come in.

“Good one, Clarke.” Lexa says sarcastically. “I told you we needed to be more careful…”

“…Where we get it on.” Clarke says playfully. “I remember, AJ.” A gleeful smirk stamped across her face.

Lexa can’t help but smile. “I was always more of Kevin fan myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER ALERT: They are not more careful where they get it on.
> 
> Goddamn it, Lexa. You are so cute. I need a girlfriend like you.
> 
> Hiii, everybody. I'm off the drugs. Hurray! Writing has been a lot easier. Thank you to all of you that sent well wishes. Much appreciated. And thank you for being here in general!
> 
> So what do we think of Gustus' back story. Does it bog down the narrative at all or make things more clear? Are Clarke and Lexa still cute even if they are infuriatingly dim when it comes to communication? Are we still liking the pacing? Constructive feedback would be amazeballs.
> 
> As always, you're all stars. I adore your witty, helpful, kind, and insightful comments. Thank you!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indra's poor eyes.

The front door is locked. Indra checks it again just to be sure. It’s a long-ingrained habit. She winds her way through the corridors checking each door and window methodically. Closing interior doors after she passes through each room. This has been her bedtime routine since she came here. And long before that when she had finally earned enough money to be able to afford a home with doors.

She bought it after her father died and she was all alone. She needed more security. It was a small humble home outside Dakar, Senegal. With dirt floors. If it came down to it, she could fend off an assailant. But not wanting to invite malice into her home, she invested in sturdy doors and windows with as many locks as they could stand. It wasn’t much. But it was safe and it was hers.

She’d earned it in a myriad of ways. Mining phosphorite with her father. Collecting nuts and selling them in the city markets.  She saved most of the money from that but used some of it to buy as many books as she could afford and filled her father’s small hovel with them.

She taught herself any language with which she could find a book. When her father passed away she knew it was only a matter of time before she was accosted because of his deteriorating abode. With curtains for doors and the makeshift sand/mud bricks that weren’t made to stand the test of time. She hocked any books she could bear to get rid of and she bought herself a home on the outskirts of the city. It was there she realized how advantageous knowing multiple languages was. Wealthy business men from all over the world, seeking a thrill in the African wilderness, hired her to translate. She developed a reputation.

One particular business man worked for the Olympic federation. He hired her to translate for incoming coaches and athletes at the next Olympics. That is where she met Gustus. He was whimsical where she was serious. Spirited where she was stern. It quickly became a friendship. And from there a business partnership was born. She agreed to be his assistant. She never played volleyball before she met him. But she spent enough time with him as he coached the Russian indoor team that she became quite proficient.

She was one of the few people Gustus trusted. With his secrets. Personal and professional.

She knows about Vasily. Probably the only other person on the planet that does.

And she was there to pick up the pieces when Vasily left. Seeing him miserable, she convinced Gustus to start over. Try something new. And she would follow him. Anywhere.

She continues her inspection of the house. Before she steps into the kitchen, she knocks loudly on the door frame. Hearing no commotion, she steps through.

This is another habit. Knocking before she enters any room. But it is a habit that has developed over the last three months. Since Clarke and Lexa started doing….whatever it is that they are doing.

It seems as their infatuation with each other had only grown. Lust they call it. Idiots. It’s not lust. Those knuckle heads are in deep. Lost in love. They are both saying the same thing but in different language. One is ready to hold on. The other is not. But can’t let go.

The first time Indra walked in on them had been the weight the room. And that was only mild compared to what came after.

The second time she caught them it was while trying to get a can of beans out of the pantry. She simply wanted to make a nice chili for dinner. She opened the door. In the faint sliver of light given from the open door, she saw movement. She lowered into a fighting stance, a vestigial reminder of her days in the slums. When her eyes adjusted, she wished they hadn’t.

Clarke and Lexa were entangled with their tongues down each other’s throats and their hands up each other shirts. She would have called out a sarcastic get a room, but this is technically a room. And they probably wouldn’t have noticed her anyway. She sighed, grabbed her can of beans, backed out of the pantry, and shut the door behind her, leaving them to it.

Nothing compares to the eighth time she encountered them. She turned the corner into the dance studio that came with the mansion. They sometimes used it for isometrics and muscle memory drills. She was looking for a socket wrench. Instead she found, Clarke wrapped around Lexa’s waist panting heavily, pushed against the floor to ceiling mirrors. The bar pressing into Clarke’s back could not have been comfortable, but they were both oblivious to everything, except each other. Clarke’s fingers were wrapped around mahogany curls, clinging to her scalp, while Lexa gyrated her hips furiously. Indra walked out and tried to convince herself they were only dancing. Lexa’s movements did look similar to a dance native to her country and it was a dance studio after all.

After that she stopped counting. She also started knocking on any hard surface she could find before she enters any room. Even if it only works 50% of the time.

Why can’t Gustus be the one to witness their hijinks? He’d probably encourage them if he had. Not the sex. Their unspoken love. He’s been playing matchmaker. He doesn’t think Indra knows that he trying to make them see how desperately perfect for each other they are. But Indra knows. Dhe knows Gustus. And she also knows  it doesn’t matter how many times you tell something to someone in however many different languages. If they don’t wanna listen. They are not going to hear it.

Clarke is hell bent on pretending she is not in love. Indra thinks that it is her loss. Lexa is hell-bent…heaven-bent maybe? on making herself and their unspoken love a safe place for Clarke. Her intentions are good. As well as Gustus’. Even if he is so obvious in his pursuit to make them see what they are to each other. Lighting candles, sending them on romantic couple’s massages on the weekend, candle lit dinners. And somehow Clarke and Lexa still refuse to get their shit together. If Indra catches them one more time, she’s going to scream. Between the three of them, Indra thinks that Africa is starting to look good again.

The last room she checks before bed is the one she dreads the most. She suspects its Clarke and Lexa’s favorite. With its huge marble fireplace, dark hardwood floors, and spacious leather couch. She has seen enough things in this room to make her wish that eye bleaching was a real thing.

As she makes her march down the long corridor to the room, Indra stomps her feet. She also coughs loudly several times. And just for good measure she knocks on the door.

“You can come in, Indra.” Clarke voice calls through the sturdy oak.

Indra pushes through still keeping her eyes to the floor. She had learned the hard way that Clarke and Lexa have a very different idea of what is suitable for company.

She hears a giggle that pulls her eyes up. Clarke and Lexa are close. Resting on each other. Smiling like idiots.

Ugh.

They really are cute.

When they are not angry at each other. The fights are getting bad again. Almost as bad as when they first started their partnership. It is worrisome. Especially with tournament season coming up this month. But really. If they just spoke to each other candidly. Told each other how they actually feel. And not some weird translation. Saying what they think the other wants to hear. Then they really probably would be making little fries all over the place.

But no. They are idiots. They say they are just friends. That they need to do this for the game. Indra has been interpreting for people for half her life. She is an expert at understanding when people say one thing, but they mean another. They are in love. They say it. Lexa says it with her patience and understanding. Clarke says it with concern and support. But neither of them say it out loud.

It’s incredibly infuriating.

She just might have to start helping Gustus with his match making.

Clarke and Lexa continue to whisper to each other. Giggling sporadically.

“It is late.” Indra says authoritatively. “Are you forgetting that we are preparing for tournaments now? You need your sleep.”

Clarke clicks her tongue. “Even if we went to bed we wouldn’t be getting much sle…”

“Clarke.” Lexa warns. “I think we have tortured Indra enough.”

Indra stand with arms folded glaring at them.

“Fine.” Clarke stands pulling Lexa with her.

“Goodnight.” They chorus absentmindedly as they walk by Indra. Pinkies linked. Still staring and giggling at each other.

Idiots.

Hopelessly in love. Horny. Adorable. Talented. Idiots.

* * *

 

> **AVP.com >volleyball>women’s>beach>tournaments>summer preview**
> 
> It’s that time again. The nets are being strung. The sand is vetted. And teams head to the beach for the start of tournament season.
> 
> Let’s take a look at the major players in this year’s lineup:
> 
> Olympic hopefuls, Peyton and Stermer, are steering clear of the national circuit this year. Instead opting for the European tour to get a good look at the competition for the gold. That’s good news for the rest of the teams competing in summer tournaments here in the states. Last year they decimated any opposition. They are shoe-ins to qualify for the Olympics next spring.
> 
> Deboy and Parsons made a fair showing in south America over the winter. Racking up 11 out of 15 wins in the unofficial competitions. At 6’5” Deboy is the tallest player in the league. And 3rd tallest in the sport. Parsons is smaller, but what she lacks in height she makes up for in determination. A plucky setter with a heart of gold. Though rumor has it their partnership has been a bit strained as of late due to moral differences. They still manage to get the job done.
> 
> Something has to be said about Sanders and Murray even if they are probably not going to be placing in any of the tournaments. Their sheer perseverance through multiple injuries and a cornucopia of heartbreaking losses is inspiring. They’ll make their annual trek to San Diego and other cities like everyone else, but don’t hold your breath for victories.
> 
> Griffin and Woods will make their debut on the court together. Critics, fans, and experts alike are excited to see these former enemies working together towards a common goal. They’ve been sequestered in their training facility for nearly 8 months. With only a few clips of raw footage to go on, there’s not much to say about them as a pairing yet. But individually they are the reigning gold and silver medalists in the sport. Putting a huge target on their back for players wanting the last qualifying spot for the Olympics next spring.
> 
> Whomever you are rooting for, it is sure to be an excellent summer for fans. Be sure to take the survey on the home page and let us know who your favorites are.

 

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

Guess Clexa can’t help themselves. They gonna get it on no matter where.

Indra’s back story? Yes, no, maybe? Tournaments! Ooooo!

Ok, so I’d like to take a moment to get a little emotional. I don’t know what I was expecting when I started posting on Ao3, but 10,000 hits on this, almost 13,000 on A Relationship Anthology, and 6,000 on Gunbitch was not it. I’m very grateful to all of you and to those who shared my fics on tumblr or bookmarked them here. I write the stories, but you give them meaning. You are such wonderful majestic humans and I’m a happy clam.

I’m not crying. You’re crying.

Anyway, if you haven’t done so already, please follow me on tumblr ([Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain)) for updates and headcanons and previews as well as other things (mostly dinos, neuroscience, clexa, and sanvers). I’m working on a sanvers childhood au as told by a tree. Come on over and convince me that is a good or bad idea.

AS ALWAYS THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE. See you next week!


	19. Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well, fuck.

**Chip Gingrich** : Hello and welcome to the 16th annual sun and sand classic. I’m Chip Gingrich.

 **Mary Lavier** : And I am Mary Lavier and we’re coming to you live from San Diego, California. 3 days of competition with bracket play beginning today. In bracket A is Parsons and Deboy versus Beagle and Mickiewicz, Strauss and Yost versus Sanders and Murray, Canterbury and Varga versus Delaney and Gilcrest, and finally Taylor and Gibson versus Jackson and Fenix.

 **Chip Gingrich** : In bracket B, we have Cotter and Hunt versus Noonan and Perk, Atwater and Green versus Kranich and Massey, Bollinger and Sheriff versus Lehman and Payne, and probably the most anticipated match Griffin and Woods versus Beverley and LaClair.

 **Mary Lavier** : Fans are eager to see many of these teams compete, but I think none more than Griffin and Woods. There’s a lot of hype surrounding them. Both very strong players.

 **Chip Gingrich** : Let’s hope they thrive under pressure. The other 7 teams are sure to make it hard for them. Whoever survives today’s bracket will make it into to tomorrows quarter finals with the championship game on Sunday.

 **Mary Lavier** : All games are best of 3 sets, single elimination matches. Play will get under the way after the break.

\--

The locker room is quiet, except for Lexa and Clarke getting dressed and preparing for the match. All the other players have either returned to their hotels or joined the stands. Lexa pulls her sports bra over her head and around her chest. She grabs a towel and wipes her forehead free of the sweat that is starting to form from the anxiety and anticipation of their public debut together. She looks up and catches Clarke staring at her.

“A kiss for good luck?” Clarke says through a mischievous smile.

Lexa puts her towel back in her designated locker. “We don’t need luck, Clarke.”

“Ok, how about kiss because I’m a horn dog and I don’t think I can spend the next hour not being able to touch you?”

“Good point.” Lexa says. Clarke practically squeals in victory. Lexa leans over and gives her a quick peck on the lips.

“More.” Clarke pouts.

“After the match. We need to focus.”

“Fiiiiiiiine.” She gives Lexa a little pat on the ass and saunters out of the locker room.

__

 **Chip Gingrich** : The last match of the day is about to get underway. Let’s get a recap of the tournament so far. In bracket A, Beagle and Mickiewicz lost soundly to Deboy and Parsons despite multiple arguments between the two victors. In a surprising upset, Sanders and Murray defeated Strauss and Yost. Delaney and Gilcrest as well as Taylor and Gibson lost their matches.

 **Mary Lavier** : IN bracket B, Cotter and Hunt, Kranich and Massey, and Lehman and Payne will be going home. So let’s see how the quarter finals are shaping up. Parsons and Deboy will be facing off Canterbury and Varga tomorrow morning. Followed by Sanders and Murray versus Jackson and Fenix. In the afternoon we’ll have Noonan and Perk versus Atwater and Green. And finally Bollinger and Sheriff versus the winner of this match.

 **Chip Gingrich** : Looks like we are about to get started folks. Should be a good one. The crowd is roaring in anticipation of the debut of Griffin and Woods.

 **Mary Lavier** : That’s right, Chip. The people want to know if these two have what it takes to join Peyton and Stermer as delegates for the United States Olympic team. Beverly and LaClair have faced both Griffin and Woods in tournament play, but not as a team.

 **Chip Gingrich** : The ref is on the court. Looks Like Beverly and LaClair won the toss. They are going to opt to serve first.

Lexa takes her position at the net. She’s not sure she ever felt this nervous before. There’s a lot riding on this and she wants to make a good impression, but more importantly she doesn’t want to let Clarke down. She pulls her heels up as Beverly smooths out the sand at the service line. She chances a look at Clarke. It’s a mistake. Because.

Every time.

Every time she looks at Clarke, she loses her breath. Still after all these months. Even after all the fights and having to hold back and the amount of patience needed to make through a moment with Clarke, Lexa’s still just as enthralled with her as she ever was. She’s still just as sure that Clarke is worth it. Clarke gives her a sly smile and a thumbs up. And Lexa is soothed. She’s sure they got this.

__

 **Chip Gingrich** : What a match! Griffin and Woods were perfectly in sync. It was breathtaking to behold! Beverly and LaClair didn’t even stand a chance!

 **Mary Lavier** : I don’t want to say it was humiliating. But it was. Griffin and Woods annihilated them. I’ve never seen such flawless play. It’s almost like they can read each other’s minds. It didn’t matter where Griffin put the ball. Woods just knew where it was going to be. It was electrifying!

 **Chip Gingrich** : Mary, I’m going to go on record and say that if Griffin and Woods keep this up, they are going to be the team to beat this summer. And they will most certainly be headed to Rio next August with Peyton and Stermer.

 **Mary Lavier** : I’m inclined to agree with you, but I still think it’s too soon to tell. Maybe I’ll make that call after quarter finals tomorrow. Join us then! Coverage begins at 9am only on ESPN.

\--

“Let’s celebrate, Lexa!”

“The tournament’s not over yet, Clarke.” Lexa says taking her sports bra off and throwing it onto the hotel room floor.

“I’m not saying we should get super drunk and vomit all over ourselves. Or even drink at all. But maybe live a little. We just spent the last 8 months busting our asses to get here. We didn’t disappoint. People know who we are. They think we have a shot at making it to the Olympics together. Let’s just go out for a little. Maybe dance.” Clarke walks over to Lexa and ghosts fingers over Lexa’s bare chest. Eliciting chills all across Lexa’s skin. Lexa closes her eyes and prepares to kiss Clarke with all she has. Instead Clarke pulls away from it just a bit. She puts her hand on lexa’s hip and grabs her other hand, pulling it up to position.

“Where do you want to dance, Clarke? 1847? We look like we are about to waltz.”

“Ha. Ha. Lexa. Fine, we don’t have to go dancing.” She throws lexa’s arm down playfully, trying to contain a smirk. “What to do you want to do then?”

“I don’t know. Sleep?” Lexa puts on a t-shirt. She starts to put on pajama pants, but Clarke stops her

“That’s it? We have a million possibilities at our fingertips and you just want to pass out?” Clarke huffs and starts to turn away. Lexa grabs her and spins her back around, pulling her close.

“I just want you at my fingertips.” Lexa’s smile is confident and charming. And Clarke is frozen by it. And by just how magnetic Lexa is. The implications of that statement are both sensual and romantic. And Clarke feels a crack forming. A ray of light shining through it. She feels sand between her toes. And a sense of freedom. And she can’t remember why. The curious prickling draw. The tide. She thinks she knows how to swim. She can’t remember why she ever thought she would drown.

Lexa is still staring at her. Serdste glaza. Heart eyes. Now she sees.

Lexa is in love with her.

Her breath catches in her throat. But somehow she manages to speak.

“We can do anything, Lexa. Tell me your heart’s desire.” It comes out at a whisper. It was something she was going to say before her realization. She was going to say it mischievously, but not it comes out more like a prayer.

It’s Lexa’s turn to be frozen.

Now. She can say it now. She can tell Clarke now. She can tell Clarke that all her heart wants is Clarke. To be Clarke’s. To be held in Clarke’s hands, safe and uninhibited. To love Clarke, freely and in the open. To have Clarke love her in return, freely and in the open. To carry Clarke’s heart in her own heart.

She can let it all come tumbling out. She doesn’t have to hold back.

Lexa takes a deep breath. Her eyes moving between Clarke’s. “Clarke, I…”

A melodic beep hits their ear drums and the door to the hotel room flies open.

“Hello, stupid tunas! Dinner, yes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddammit! Who gave Gustus a hotel key?  
> Oh yea. It was me. Asdfasdfkla SORRYNOTSORRY
> 
> It literally took me forever to think of all those last names. Fml. 
> 
> Ok, so. I will not be able to keep to my weekly posting schedule through the rest of December. I do a lot of crafting at the holidays and that takes up a majority of my free time. If anyone is interested at looking at my crafts, let me know. I’ll post them on my tumblr. I will still try and post at least one chapter between now and Christmas, but no promises. 
> 
> Also, I always meant to have chapter titles for this fic using the synonyms seen in the summary. I've started doing that. If you wanna go back through the chapters and makes suggestions that would be cool.
> 
> As always, THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE and a tentative happy holidays to you all (in case I don’t make it back on here in time.)


	20. Have

 “Hello, stupid tunas! Dinner, yes?”

Gustus smile is lifted to the brim. Indra is glowering at the floor, shifting nervously on her feet. She chances a brief glance at the room they just entered. A breathless Lexa. With no pants. The two standing next to each other. An affectionate tension between the two. She catches a brief look of fear in their eyes, before Indra covers her own.

It’s not the most compromised she’s ever seen them. But still. She wants to retain some decency.

A shred, at least.

Indra shields herself from the half-naked Lexa with one hand and then smacks Gustus on the shoulder with her free hand.

He winces. “Ouch. What was that for?”

 “I told you this was a bad idea. Do you know how many times I have seen them naked?”

Clarke and Lexa have shifted from fear to a look of pure fury on their faces. Clarke’s tone is icy. “This one is on you! Who walks into a locked hotel room without knocking?”

Lexa’s features immediately soften. But there is no humor. There is no shock. Indra is having a hard time translating it.

Gustus had wanted to take Clarke and Lexa out to celebrate at a fancy, romantic restaurant. And then ditch them. Another one of his cockamamie match making schemes. But Indra has a feeling they are interrupting something. Clarke’s fury. The defeat on Lexa’s face. It’s not like walking on them before. This is something different. This is something important.

But then suddenly Indra knows

Oh, Gustus. You really shot yourself in the foot on this one. Indra knows what the look on Lexa’s face is. It’s grief.

She was just about to tell Clarke how she felt.

And Clarke was just about to let her.

Gustus. You idiot.

“What? Why is everybody so quiet?” Gustus brisks, still rubbing his arm where Indra had hit it. “Dinner! Let’s go. Put’s some pants on, Watergun.” And he strolls merrily from the room.

Indra stares at them both for a second. Wanting to apologize and encourage them. But not quite knowing how. “We will be at the restaurant downstairs if you wish to join us.” She backs out the door and whispers a quiet apology as she shuts it.

The moment was gone. Ripped away from them. Clarke looks to Lexa and immediately averts her eyes. The bravery she felt before their intrusion is gone.

Lexa continues to stare at Clarke. She feels the shift from moments ago. The window has closed on her opportunity again. Again. Lexa wonders if they are doomed to do this dance forever. The hope that she once felt is starting to dwindle. The belief that she is right, that she and Clarke are meant to be, feels less like fact. A little less like truth.

This is not what she imagined falling in love with her best friend would feel like. It was supposed to be sweet and secure. True love. But this is an unending lesson in patience. Revealing her truths one at a time. Keeping the lies at bay. Waiting for Clarke to be brave enough to love her out loud.

And Lexa thinks maybe she deserves to wait. She deserves to be patient. To control herself and have to hold back.

But. She’s not sure how much longer she can _hold on_.

Clarkes gaze stops darting around the room and they look into each other eyes. Lexa may not be able to say I love you out loud to Clarke, but she can still say it. She reaches for Clarke and pulls her in close. Holding her gaze, she presses a tender open mouth kiss to Clarke’s lips. It’s imbued with all the words Clarke can’t and won’t hear yet.

It’s enough. For now.

Charades. Just keep pretending it’s enough. 

They stand breathless. Foreheads pressed together.

Lexa finds her voice first. “I guess you’ll get your wish after all.” She tries to keep the regret from her tone as she moves to her suitcase and begins to sift through it.

“Are you sure, Lexa?” Clarke’s shoulders are slumped. Defeat shining in her eyes. “We could just stay in. Order room service.”

Lexa smiles. “We could. But knowing Gustus he’ll just come barging in here again. When he sets his mind to something there’s no changing it. I think you know that better than anyone else.” Lexa thinks it’s pretty hilarious how much Clarke and Gustus are alike. “Besides we’d probably end up doing you know what. And we don’t need either of them walking in on that again.”

Clarke chuckles. Feeling lighter. Lexa always manages to do that. She wishes she was as brave as Lexa. “Yea, I think we’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.”

Lexa selects a pair of fitted chinos from her bag and pulls them up her long tan legs. Clarke mentally pulls them back down, but allows Lexa to button them and then slide an emerald button up over her white t shirt. “To be fair, you never did take my advice and stop being so careless where you feel me up.”

“Oh, I’m always careful where I put my hands on you. Very precise.” She winks and grins.

“The environment in which you touch me, Clarke.” Lexa’s tone is a specter of scornful. A slight twist of facetiousness to her lips.

Clarke surrenders, hands up to show she is defenseless. Her smile grows. Their banter is her favorite. More than Lexa’s lips. Her hips. And finger tips. The way she and Lexa just _are_ is the best thing she has ever known. And well that’s the scary part, isn't it?

But just as always, she hides her fear with teasing. “Not my fault you are so hot. And you didn’t really stop me.”

“Touché.” Lexa smiles and finishes the last button on her top.

Clarke feels grateful. Grateful for Lexa's return to tacit. Clarke had thought she wanted to hear those words moments ago. Wanted to hear that Lexa loves her. But that would change things again. Blur them further. She likes it the way it is. Clarke is good at only one thing. Volleyball. She is most certainly not good with change.

Clarke pulls a cream blazer over her shoulders and grabs Lexa’s hand, pulling her out the door. Both of them trying to forget they ever came so close to changing everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say "cockamamie match making schemes" five times fast
> 
> Hey! I hope everyone a wonderful holiday.
> 
> How are we feeling? Anyone got whiplash from this? Whiplash from throwing their head back and giggling so hard at our beloved Gustus. Please share your thoughts!
> 
> AS always thanks for being here!
> 
> Also, did someone share this somewhere because it got an insane amount of hits and kudos in the last couple of days especially since I haven't published in a few weeks? Let me know so I can give you my first born.
> 
> Staaaaaaay awesome!


	21. Hang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go to dinner. Lexa ruminates. Clarke gets kinda brave for a sec. Gustus finally gets a little comeuppance from Indra for interrupting our babies.

But Lexa can’t forget. She’s choking on almost. Pretending is not enough anymore. Her mind is spinning. Charades. Charades. Charades. Hope. Hope. Hope. Reality versus intuition. It’s the unending battle she’s been fighting since she met Clarke. And she feels a certain amount of grief as she finds Clarke across the table. Clarke is idly listening to the conversation, finger tracing the rim of her water glass, a distinct tone emanating from the friction. Lexa returns her eyes to her own plate.

It’s barely been touched. A ritual apparently. A side effect of when her thoughts are lost on Clarke. Like at Thanksgiving when she had pondered the blonde’s affections for her. She had barely touched the feast then. And now all these months later, she’s still in the same place. Almost as if no progress has been made. She’s still stuck pushing moresels of food around the ceramic, wondering if Clarke cares for her, to what degree Clarke cares , trying to remind herself all it takes is time. All she needs is patience and the belief that Clarke is the one she’s meant to be with. But Clarke has had plenty of time.

And a part of her still believes they are meant to be.

And then there’s that part of her that knows that she can’t wait forever. Shouldn’t wait forever.

But if Lexa stops pretending, if she stops waiting, this will be over in a heartbeat. All of it.

She doesn’t want to hurt Clarke. Unleash all of her pent up feelings of  Clarke, unrestrained. Let affectionate words flow freely. She can’t. People get hurt when Lexa doesn’t hold back. It occurs to her right then how much she is hurting herself.

No matter how brave Clarke had been earlier, it’s not a bravery she is yet willing to sustain. That much is clear. Baby steps is fine. Lexa just wants to know they are taking those tiny steps in a certain, clear cut, black and white direction. Not this limbo they are stuck in. Not these charades.

Lexa sorts out her thoughts while Gustus prattles on. And Indra wordlessly observes Lexa. Sometimes Lexa thinks Indra knows way more about everyone than she lets on.

The waitress comes and starts clearing plates. Gustus continues his babbling. About the tournament. Quarterfinals. How this is just the beginning for them. They’re headed for Rio. He is certain of it. She catches snippets of what Gustus is saying and the occasional translation from Indra. But mostly she stares at her plate and wonders just how long she can wait to love Clarke out loud. Wait for Clarke to be ready.

She catches Clarke’s eye. Clarke smiles and throws a thumb in Gustus’ direction. Her face contorting into a comical impression of slowly dying. Lexa stifles a snort and hides her grin behind her glass of water. Gustus is killing her slightly, too. But he continues on, oblivious.

Lexa takes a moment to look around the restaurant. It’s filled with their competitors, some coaches and trainers. She can see their opponents for tomorrow, Bollinger and Sheriff, laughing. Across the aisle at a separate table she can see Deboy glaring daggers at the other side of the restaurant. 

Lexa follows Deboy’s line of sight to find Parsons. If Lexa was being less than humble, she would admit that Lindsay Deboy and Audra Parsons are probably their only competition in this tournament. Audra is with one half of the team that her and Lindsay had defeated earlier in the day. Lexa’s not sure which one it is, but she guesses Monkevicz.

Monkevicz and Parsons are jammed into a corner. Giggling and pressing kisses into each other’s lips.

Lexa’s attention is quickly pulled back to her present company when Gustus abruptly yelps and stands up. He loudly declares he’ll take care of the check. Before Lexa and Clarke know it, Gustus and Indra are leaving the restaurant. Gustus stooping down briefly to rub his shin throwing a pointed glare at Indra. Lexa looks again and they are gone.

The silence stretches between them even though the restaurant is teeming with activity. Lexa tries not to make direct eye contact with Clarke. She’s about to make an excuse to leave. Tell Clarke she’s going to go call Anya. She hasn’t talked to Anya very much recently.

Anya decided she wanted to use her now abundant free time to travel. Last Lexa heard from her she was in Europe. Or Asia. Or Eurasia. Whatever. The lack of contact was fine by Lexa. She didn’t want to have to explain her current situation with Clarke to Anya anyway. No words came to mind that would be certain to assuage Anya.

She wants to tell Clarke that even though it’s 3am in Eurasia, she has to call Anya and then maybe _accidentally_ stay on the phone until Clarke falls asleep. Or maybe not tell her that last detail of her plan. And definitely don’t tell Clarke that she plans to sneak in to their room and her and Clarke can both avoid the conversation that has to happen a little longer. They can avoid the end. Instead, Lexa’s eyes continue to roam the restaurant as she debates the pros and cons of ditching Clarke for the night. And why didn’t they get two hotel rooms? Or at the very least two beds?

Because they are obsessed with each other.

And neither of them knows what to do about it besides put their tongue down each other throats and put  their fingers…

Lexa’s stare accidentally falls back on Deboy. Deboy’s eyes are flaring with anger. Lexa checks the corner that contains Parsons. And the 5’7” setter is glaring back at Deboy. Equally as angry. She grabs Monkevicz hand and pulls them up.

Rumor has it that Deboy and Parsons argue more than Lexa and Clarke do.

“Is Anya coming?”

Lexa snaps back her attention. “What?”

“Is Anya coming for any of the tournament?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her. Just a text that said if she could make it she said she would be here sometime between this morning and Sunday.”

“That’s vague.”

“That’s Anya.” Lexa picks up a napkin and begins to fiddle with it. “What about you? Any friends or family coming?”

“Raven. She was supposed to come today but her special wheelchair, the one that goes over sand, needed new wheels.”

“That’s nice.” The napkin rips with nervous force. As the guilt trickles its way back in, Lexa looks back up and sees Clarke’s eyes filled with wonder and fear and curiosity.

Lexa has worked so very hard not to see fear in Clarke’s eyes. She drops her gaze to avoid Clarke’s. She stares at the movement of her own hands. Charades. Hope. Fear.

Clarke reaches a hand across the table to stop Lexa’s hands from nervously twisting. Lexa quickly looks up. Clarke’s smile is like a drug that Lexa could buy by the gram. Her hand stops its movement under the weight of Clarke’s and Clarke pulls back a few millimeters. Lexa manages an uneasy smile. Clarke smiles brighter.

But then the smile parts and her brows furrow inquisitively. “Earlier.” The word slams into Lexa and takes the breath from her lungs. Clarke’s lips twitch and twist as she searches for her next words. “Before Gustus and Indra came into our room…” She pauses again, but the smile comes back. Lexa feels hope rise in her chest. “What were you going to say?”

A part of her is relieved.

And a part of her is garroted, gutted, and unsure.

Because she has no idea what has made Clarke brave enough to ask.

Lexa needs to say it. Those three words. Knows she has to say them now that Clarke has presented the opportunity again. She knows that at some point both of them have to confront this. Give it a name they both agree on. They need to stop pretending. Pretending this is just lust.

And maybe Clarke is currently feeling brave enough to ask, but Lexa thinks that blurting out ‘I love you’ would immediately send Clarke running again. Running to hide behind that friends with benefits label that will never be enough.

Holding back is all Lexa knows. Sure she’s gotten back the power in her spike after Clarke forgave her, but she’s practiced keeping those three words at bay more than she has practiced the Plinkov and her spike combined. Holding back the words. It’s like choking on smoke. She knows there are breathable particles of air somewhere in the poison cloud, if she could just find a way to filter them out, then she can breathe again.

A filter. She needs a filter. A way to soften the immensity of what needs to happen. A clever buffer. Something silly and stupid and unexpected.

And then she’ll be able to _breathe_ again. She’ll be free of the stranglehold those three stupid words have on her.

 _Love is like the gallows_ , Lexa thinks. The world drops out from beneath you. Then you swing. And sway. And you pray to god you make it out alive. With your heart still beating and your spine still intact.

An idea hits her. She can’t say I love you. Not yet. It would be too much. But she can put in no uncertain terms that she wants more than friends with benefits. And the gallows may be just what they both need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i liked writing this chapter. Then my perfectionist tendencies took over and I got a little frustrated because I wanted to get Lexa's voice just right - the back and forth/ weighing of options that happens when you truly want something, but you don't know how to get it. Your feedback (good or bad) would make my brain stop hurting. 
> 
> Lol gustus got kicked in the shin. I hope that's enough retribution for you guys.
> 
> Fun Fact: I'm studying to become a park ranger. I made this decision last october. And finally got a test date. I studied my butt off and took the test. So basically, sorry for the delay in updating because I had to study (and because of my perfectionism), but also kinda not sorry because all that studying paid off and I did amazing!
> 
> AS ALWAYS thank you for your continued support and amazing comments. You're zee best!


	22. Nudge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa finds a unique way to tell Clarke in no uncertain terms what she wants. Clarke is still uncertain about it, of course. But she's fucking trying, guys.

“Earlier.” Clarke can’t stop herself from asking. But oh how she wants to. She wants to preserve this cocoon just a little bit longer. As long as she can. She wants to hide to behind the friends with benefits label. She can feel her mouth twist and flip with the war. Trying hold back the question. She’s still trying to fight the tide. But Lexa. Lexa had looked so small and sad during dinner and Clarke just couldn’t take it. So she asks. “In the room. Before Gustus and Indra interrupted. What were you going to say?”

 

When she sees the relief crash across Lexa’s face, she knows she’s made the right choice. No matter how scared she is to hear the answer. She can’t help the smile that crests across her own lips. But as Lexa continues to silently ruminate the question, Clarke can feel her lips twisting and twitching again, her smile and her courage are slipping.

Just as she is about to start to full on panic, Lexa apparently comes to an internal conclusion and gives Clarke a smile in return. It’s _that_ smile. The one that makes Clarke’s knees weak. The one that Lexa only gives her. And Clarke is almost powerless against it. Like she could be pulled down somewhere deep. Sucking in diatoms and seawater. All because of a pair of upturned lips. Just because those lips belong to Lexa.

 _“Name it,” s_ omething inside of her demands.

Clarke sucks in a breath. Willing her mind to quiet. Willing the war into peace. Lexa’s continues to smile, _that_ smile, and then it grows into something Clarke’s never quite seen before. She’s seen Lexa cocky smirk before. Mischievous grin. Her confident smile. She’s seen them all. But this is something different. This is confidence and…. adoration? Relief and devotion? Clarke’s not sure, but her stomach flips regardless. _It’s just nerves,_ she tells herself. She tells the other part of her. The tiny the voice that has been growing louder with each passing day she spends with Lexa.

 _“No, that’s not it,” t_ he tiny voice rebukes. She’s usually able to ignore it, but this feels important. This moment feels important. Lexa is important.

Clarke’s internal conflict and confusion is further compounded when Lexa’s stop a passing waitress and asks her for a pen and paper.

As Lexa begins to scribble, Clarke is drawn back to why she asked this stupid question in this first place. Why she opened herself up to such change. Such chaos. Such vastness. Maybe it was bravery.

_“That’s not it either.”_

It wasn’t bravery.

It was Lexa.  
  
Clarke had watched Lexa carefully since they arrived at dinner. Lexa looked so morose and encumbered. Like she was bearing the weight for both of them. Like she had always been bearing the weight. She hadn’t seen, Lexa that withdrawn and encumbered since the days before the truce.

And that made Clarke remembered the unspoken promise she had made all those months ago when she called that truce. She promised she wouldn’t hurt Lexa if she could help it.

It killed Clarke to watch Lexa suffer like that. So as much as Clarke is scared to hear it, scared to change things between them she wants to let Lexa say her piece.

Lexa always selflessly bears the brunt of Clarke’s emotions First guilt masked as anger. Now this unnamed feeling masked as lust and fear. Lexa has always been strong for Clarke. And now it’s Clarke turn to be strong for Lexa.

Even if she doesn’t feel strong. Even if she feels like she drowning. Being pulled to sea. Even if everything but that lone little invoice inside of her is screaming to swim against the current. To ignore the curious prickling draw.

All those things, probably mean one thing, but Clarke still doesn’t have a name for it yet.

“ _Yes, you do.”_ That stupid little voice retorts.

Lexa starts to draw little dashes across the paper, counting them out methodically. And separating groups of them with slashes. Her tongue peaks out from her lips in concentration and Clare feels her stomach flip again.

“ _Name it.”_

Lexa looks up at her for a moment and all Clarke can think is that she is perfect. Lexa is perfect. And with that, another thought resounds. The one that may be the reason for the war. A niggling pervasive question. When will Lexa come to her senses? When will it become evident to Lexa that all this – their connection, their chemistry – is all too good to be true?

 

God, for some reason Lexa loves her, even after Clarke was determined to hold them back. To pretend they were only friends. Even if Lexa never figures out that Clarke is not worthy of her love, Clarke wouldn’t know where to start. She doesn’t know how to be with someone, not the way Lexa is asking. To be open. To allow herself to be vulnerable. To give them both a chance to sink or float.

Because Clarke knows they will sink. Knows Lexa will figure out how woefully inadequate Clarke is. And she’ll drown. And she won’t come back from that. Her life derailed, her career, because of one girl. And what in the hell is she even doing? She can’t do this. They can’t change things. She opens her mouth to let an excuse fly free. Or change the subject. Or just to escape. Why did she ask? _Why_ did she ask _?_

_“You know why.”_

 

A crash resounds from somewhere in the restaurant. Clarke is stopped momentarily from trying to escape. She searches the restaurant for the origin of the commotion. There’s a small group of people near the dance floor watching something at a table in the corner. Two people talking at each other in raised voices. Suddenly, Clarke feels a hand on her own.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” Lexa says looking up from her paper. She squeezes Clarke hand gently.  Clarke’s not sure if Lexa means she is safe from the violent crash or the turbulence she is experiencing within herself. She wouldn’t be surprised if Lexa knew what she was thinking. She always seems to know.

Lexa continues to finish her preparations for her declaration. Clarke just tries to breathe in and out. Lexa would never do anything to hurt her. Clarke is sure of that.

Clarke looks back to the dance floor. The group huddled at the edge has dispersed. Couples are swaying to light sensual groove. The chandelier sways too. Perhaps from the inhabitants or from the force of the crash moments ago or maybe from the earth itself. Moving without consciousness. Gravity. It keeps rotating. And suddenly things feel decipherable and irresolvable at the same time. Acute and vast.  Like her feelings for Lexa. Like the ocean. The ocean drowns. The ocean consumes. The world turns and the tides pull. It batters the land and nothing can stay the same. Nothing can belong to one thing. For a day let alone a life time. Clarke thinks of all the grains of sand that once basked in the sun on the shore. Now doomed to a life of darkness on the ocean floor. Simply because they allowed themselves to be pulled.

 _“Somethings thrive in the ocean.”_ The voice says _._

It’s true. And Clarke realizes where her fears are truly coming from. Because the things that thrive in the ocean are things that are adapted to dwell there. Gills and fins. And Clarke was not, is not, prepared for the vastness of her feelings for Lexa. She’s never felt like this. She doesn’t even know what to call it.

“ _Yes, you do. Name it.”_

But Lexa can still destroy her even if she somehow miraculously grows fins and learns to swim with the current.

“Clarke?”

Clarke is snapped out of her thoughts. The taste of saltwater on her tongue. Lexa still squeezing her hand. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

Lexa smiles and releases her grip. She spreads the paper out before her. “Have you ever played hang man?”

“Hangman?”

“Yea.” Lexa looks back down. She draws the upside down L and turns the paper towards Clarke. Clarke understands the dashes and slashes now. They represent the phrase she wants Clarke to guess.

“Not since elementary school.”

Lexa smiles _that_ smile again. And Clarke feels herself calm a little more. This is Lexa. This is _Lexa._ This is the person that always seems to know what Clarke wants. How to comfort her. And no matter what, Lexa somehow always manages to find her, to meet Clarke where she is. How many times has Clarke turned the corner at the mansion and there Lexa was, not surprised they ran into each other, smiling _that_ smile?

Lexa flattens out the paper more. And Clarke can see relief in her eyes. Closure. How long has she been wanting to get this off her chest? “Guess a letter.”

Clarke can’t help but think this is a little silly, but she is also grateful.

She looks at Lexa then down at the paper. “_ / _ _ _ _ / _ _ / _ _ _ _ / _ _ _ / _ _ / _ / _ _ _ _” And Clarke let’s herself truly relax because of course it’s not ‘I love you’ because Lexa knows. She just _knows_ what Clarke can and can’t handle. Maybe Clarke relies a little bit too much on Lexa being in tuned to her.

“I”

Lexa smiles. “Good guess.”  She makes the necessary marks on the puzzle. “Sorta.” Lexa’s smile grows. It’s almost confident. But still wary. And whether or not her partner ever says it out loud, Clarke knows Lexa loves her. She’s still not sure why. She’s been on podiums before. Gold medal, silver, bronze. All evidence of her hard work. It’s just hard for Clarke to fathom a world in which someone would elevate her just for existing. Especially someone like Lexa.

She looks down at the other puzzle. A solitary “I” fills one slot.

“I / _ _ _ _ / _ _ / _ _ _ _ / _ _ _ / _ _ / _ / _ _ _ _”

Clarke lets a quick breathy laugh escape her, “I see what you mean by Sorta”

“Care to make another guess?” Lexa’s smile is unwavering in its dichotomy

Clarke loses herself in the mystery. She forgets to be afraid.

Clarke guesses several letters in a row.

Lexa scratches them into their place. “I / _ A N T / T _ / T A _ _ / _ _ _ / _ N / A / D A T _” When she finishes she looks up at Clarke expectantly.

Clarke stares down. Picking apart each blank. Trying to fill them. She doesn’t know the answer. But she feels good about it. She feels safe knowing that whatever the blanks entail she will welcome the information. And that peace gives her strength and true bravery. She wants to know the answer now.

“All the vowels.”

Lexa’s brows furrow quickly. “You can’t just guess all the vowels.”

“Yes. I can. And while you’re at it. I guess all the consonants as well.”

Lexa lets an emboldened guffaw escape her lips. “Ok, vowels it is.” She says on the back of her laugh.

Clarke can’t help the smile that winds its way across the edges of her lips. This woman is wonderful. Sweet. Soft. Hard. Strong. Silly. Serious. Even if Clarke is scared. She is safe.

 “I/_ANT/TO/TA_E/_OU/ON/A/_ATE”

If Clarke had heat vision, she would burn a hole into the napkin. The wheels in her head turn quickly. Randomly exchanging letters in and out of the dashes with her mind’s eye. Then. It hit’s her. Rather suddenly.

“I WANT TO TAKE YOU ON A DATE!” Clarke shouts it with the rapid realization.

Lexa smile drops into a sly smirk. “It’s about time you admitted it.”

The twinkle in her green eyes sets Clarke’s heart aflutter. Yes. She can do this. She can name this. She just needs to adapt. Just a little more time.

“I’m not ready to be with anyone.” _Because I don’t know how._ “Not yet.” _But I want to learn. For you I want to learn._

She keeps her eyes locked on Lexa and tries to will Lexa to understand that it’s not no.

Lexa blinks once and nods heavily. “Not yet.”

Clarke feels pinpricks of almost relief. “Thank you for understanding.”

Lexa lips flicker into an almost smile. It’s not _that_ smile. But it’s enough for Clarke to reciprocate. She reaches out take Lexa’s hand again, but as it stretches across the powder blue linen she hears shouts. Before they can look up to find the source of the yelling, a body comes careening into the edge of their table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I'm baaaaaack. Front. Side to side.
> 
> Also, YAAAAAAY LEXA ADMITTED IT AND NOW CLARKE KNOWS AND NOW THEY ARE GOING TO BE MAKING LITTLE TUNA BABIES. lol nope. Still got some angst ahead.
> 
> I probably left lots of words out of sentences. I do that when I'm on a roll. If you find any confusing ones, let me know.
> 
> What do we think? How fucking cute is Lexa?  
> _ _/_ _ _ _/_ _ _ _!  
> Clarke, you can do this. Listen to the voice inside your heart. It's a sassy little fucker.
> 
> So, I've been busy. This park ranger stuff is coming along nicely. I had my first interview on monday. I was pretty awkward. But generally that's part of my charm, so I think it went well. I've got three more lined up. But I really want the first one. So glad you guys are still here! Happy to see you again!


	23. Cut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: homophobia  
> Listen, you guys aren't gonna like Deboy. But since quite a few of you are probably lesbians you don't like de boys anyway. PUN!

Lexa watches Clarke’s mouth form the words. “Not yet.”

It’s not no. It’s also not as comforting as she though that would be.

She thought it would make her feel better. To hear confirmation from Clarke that she is not crazy. That there is something more between them.

But not yet, it’s doesn’t mean no. But it doesn’t mean yes.

It means more patience. More time. More pretending. And Lexa can. She will. But she truly wonders if she should.

“Not yet.” She confirms. Trying to coax her thoughts to catch up with the will of her heart.

Clarke appears relieved. A little less unburdened. Lexa wants to scream at her what her burden feels like, but instead she uses the kinetic energy to try and force a smile. “Thanks you for understanding.”

She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know why Clarke won’t just leap and know that Lexa will catch her.

But she’s hold on thinly to her restraint. It took a lot from her to deny herself those three words spoken allowed. But at least Clarke knows now.

The table twists and tilts beneath their hands. The water glasses splash. The paper with Lexa’s confession is soaked and suddenly she can feel white hot anger flow through her.

She looks up to the source of the discord. Fire in her eyes.

It’s Parsons. Hands defensively outstretched protecting Monkevicz. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She repeats to Clarke and Lexa as she turns to find the real source of the brutality. “Are you ok? She pushed me.”

Deboy is there. Chest rising and falling with a ferocity that matches Lexa’s own turmoil. But this is menacing. The tallest in the league, Deboy towers over all of them. “And I’ll do it again. Did you sleep with her so we could win our match or just because you like the sin?” Her tone is rife with malice and hatred as she points a finger at Monkevicz.

Something in Lexa snaps. She’s up in seconds. Putting herself between Deboy and Parsons. “What did you say?”

Deboy’s malice folds into an evil smirk. “Homosexuality is a sin. If I had known that she was hiding a demon inside of her, I never would have partner with her to begin with.”

Lexa can hear Parsons sniffling behind her. She has no idea what Clarke is doing. And Lexa carefully constructed self-control crumbles.

She grabs Deboy by the shirt the collar and growls. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Almost a foot taller than Lexa, Deboy stares down at her still smiling creepily. “Or what? You gonna cripple me too?”

The words stab at her. Lexa finally looks at Clarke and sees the fear in her eyes. The fear that Lexa has worked so hard not to see written there. Lexa loosens her grip.

“That’s what I thought.” Deboy rolls her shoulder and Lexa releases her grip completely. Lexa looks back to her. Deboy’s smile falls off her face, into a mockery of thoughtfulness and point to Clarke. “Though I suppose if she can forgive you for crippling her partner, I can forgive mine for being a lesbian trollop.”

Lexa wants to deck her and watch her fall. She wants to let go. To not hold back any longer. She merely clenches her fists and looks to the floor before striding confidently through the door.

When she reaches the elevator, she presses the button almost hard enough to break it.

__

She makes it to their floor of the hotel before Clarke catches up with her. Pushing open the door of the stairwell liked she’d just cracked an impenetrable safe.

Both are caught unaware.

They just stand there staring at the carpet. The red and gold wreath pattern of the carpet both chaotic and calm. Like Lexa feels in this moment.

She lifts her head at the same time Clarke does. Lexa feels her stomach drop out.

Clarke looks at her like she betrayed her. Like she is a monster.

Oh. This is why Clarke doesn’t trust her?

Clarke is scared of her. Deeply profoundly scared of her. And Lexa remembers now that she should be. All this time she has spent reigning herself in so she could be worthy of Clarke. To prove that she can be trusted. That she is not a monster.

But it’s true.

Lexa knows she is only here with Clarke because she crippled Raven. That thought has never truly left her mind.  But she let herself believe that they had overcome that. That she had done enough to make it right.

But the way Clarke is looking at her right now is the same as she did 3 years ago. Like Lexa has the power to destroy anything she touches. Like Lexa could destroy her.

Clarke whispers even though there is no one around to hear. “Are you ok?” she asks Lexa tentively. Her voice quavering.

“No.”

“Do you want to go to bed?”

“Yea.”

They reach the room. And prepare for bed in silence. Lexa lays down and Clarke lays down beside her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose control.” Lexa says into the darkness.

“You beat me to it. I would have punched her in her god-fearing mouth.” Clarke says. “I hope they make it to the finals just so we can beat the crap out of them legally.”

Lexa wants to smile but she’s stricken with all the effort it has taken to temper herself today. The silences stretches on until Lexa is sure Clarke asleep.

Lexa sighs with the burden of needing the truth. “You’re afraid of me aren’t you?” She asks quietly not expecting an answer.

Clarke stirs. Lexa can feel her searching the darkness for something. At least Clarke has the decency to turn away when she says, “Yea.”

Exhaustion catches up with them both. It’s the first time in 3 months that no one initiates anything. No kisses. No sex. No touch.

Lexa feels tears prick at her eyes, but holds them back. Maybe it’s time to let go.

But when Clarke reaches behind her and intertwines their fingers, Lexa can’t help but hold on just a bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I didn't intentionally choose the last name Deboy just so I could get a pun out of it. But hahahahanyway. 
> 
> Ok so:  
> I. Need. You. To. Be. Honest. With. Me. Is this story ok? Mediocre? Crap? Delicious? Boring? Can't live without it? The more constructive feedback I get, the better my writing becomes and the more enjoyable the reading part is for you. I am aware of my grammar, punctuation, and ghost word issues. But I cannot quite grasp how the story makes you feel. Is there anyway to provoke more thought and feeling? What are my strengths and weaknesses? This is for all intents and purposes a rough draft. Please, help me make it and my writing better. Leave as many comments as you want. THEN go to my other stories and tell me what you think about those. Be as specific as possible. I want to be critiqued. I have thick skin and only one rule: Don't be a dick.  
> And that rule applies to many aspects of my life. Wink. Wink. :)  
> Glad you are here!  
> Also, special shout out to CMDR_Revan who correctly guessed the hangman clue in the notes last week: so/damn/cute  
> I thought we could do it again  
> _ _ _ _ _ _/_ _ _ _  
> See you next week!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's day two of the sun and sand classic. How will they fare after their revelations from last night?

**Chip Gingrich:** Thanks for joining us again for the second half on day two of the Sun and Sand Classic!

 **Mary Lavier:** The second to last match of the day, featuring Clarke Griffin and Lexa Woods versus Noonan and Perk  is about to get underway. Let’s do a little recap of the day’s events  and see how we got here shall we?

 **Chip Gingrich:** We shall! Noonan and perk defeated Atwater and Green this morning with little effort on the victors’ part. Sanders and Murray pulled off another miracle by beating another nationally ranked team of Jackson and Fenix. The teams of Parsons and Deboy and Griffin and Woods, the favorites to make it to the finals, also won their first matches of the day against Canterbury and Varga and Bollinger Sheriff respectively.

 **Mary Lavier:** Though I have to say I was a little unimpressed this time around. Deboy and Parsons spent most of the match yelling at each other, basically ignoring their competition.  And Griffin and Woods, their explosive play from yesterday was nowhere to be found.

 **Chip Gingrich** : I agree about Griffin and Woods. The chemistry seemed way off.

* * *

“Anya?” Lexa says as she steps fully into the stadium. The banners and billboard creating a kaleidoscope of distracting geometric shapes. Clarke is right on her heels. When Lexa stops at the sight of her sister, Clarke runs right into her. 

“Raven?” Clarke says in disbelief peeling herself away from Lexa. Anya is holding the handles of Raven’s chair. The fancy one Clarke had mentioned, with huge off wheels that looked like they belong on an ATV

Raven chuckles, “They barely call. Don’t write. And that’s all they can say?” She looks up to her compatriot who is still clinging to the wheel chair.

Anya joins in, “Pick your jaws up off the sand. Of course we are here. Just because you two forgot about us when you became obsessed with each other doesn’t mean we wouldn’t miss your big debut.”

“Yea, only a day late.” Clarke stands indignant.  She finally laughs and stoops to her. “I’m glad you are here.” Clarke says as she hugs her best friend. Finally sitting in her lap.

Lexa takes a clue and hugs Anya. “How are you?”

Clarke is still distracted. Raven is now pushing them up and down the sand. Proving the efficiency of her new wheels. Anya takes the opportunity to have as a quick heart to heart with her Sister. “I’m good. How are you? How are things with Clarke?

Lexa decides, even though she’s been avoiding this conversation with Anya, there’s no time like now for the truth. “Um, ok? We’ve been…um…having sex. Since February.”

“Yas!” It’s half whisper half yell. And lexa’s eyes shift to make sure Clarke is still not paying attention. “Lexa! And you guys are madly in love and going to get marr…”

“No.”

“Please tell me she at least told you how she feels.”

“Maybe. Kinda. We haven’t relabeled it. We’re still technically just friends.” Lexa says sullenly “With benefits. I guess.”

“You’re not serious, Lexa.” Anya says defiantly. “What’s the benefit?”

Lexa’s sigh resounds. “I’m not sure anymore.”

“Oh, Lexa.”

The announcers begin and they separate from their friends.

* * *

The teams shake hands and take their spots on either side of the court. The stands aren’t quite filled to capacity, but there is enough people to create a dull roar that coats the inside of Clarke’s ears.

She watches Lexa pace back and forth beside the net, looking for inadequacies in the sand. Clarke feels a pang of uncertainty hit her square in the chest.

Their first match of the day had not gone as well as she thought it would. Lexa seemed…off. Her spikes were lighter. Her words were short and to the point. Which is very Lexa, but this had seemed…timid.

Lexa was anything but that.

Clarke stands at the service line. The wind sweeps though the stadium, causing Clarke’s brain to ruminate and make tiny subconscious corrections and determinations of where to send her serve. Clarke looks to Lexa to see what her opinion is.

Lexa has stopped pacing and is standing at the net. She is crouched at the ready position, heels off the sand, and both hands behind her back with her left index finger pointed to the sand. Meaning Lexa wants a beeline serve to the back left corner.

It’s a great idea.

She’s done this a thousand times. Effortlessly. With and without Lexa. Dozens of tournaments. But right now she feels more grateful than she had ever been. They are headed somewhere. She doesn’t just mean to the finals. She means that she is going to try to make things work with Lexa. Clarke hasn’t pick the destination yet. But at least Lexa knows she’s ready to make the journey.

So why is Lexa holding back again?

* * *

Lexa sends a lofty hit over the net. Perk easily scoops it up. And Noonan slams it to the ground. This game should not be tied. They should be destroying them. But wel lLexa doesn’t want to destroy anything ever again.

The ball is given over to the official for inspection and both teams take a quick water break.

 **Chip Gingrich:**  We’ll it appears as though Griffin and Woods have truly lost their groove now. They’re holding their own, but honestly, after yesterday’s explosive debut, I was expecting a bit more from them.

 **Mary Lavier** : Maybe another groove is developing?

 **Chip** **Gingrich** : What do you mean?

 **Mary** **Lavier** : Look.

* * *

God what is Lexa doing? She hasn’t hit the ball this soft since she was a toddler.

 Standing on the sidelines with Clarke, she looks to the crowd and finds Anya swinging her arm down in a violent motion. Mouthing the words ‘hit the fucking ball, Lexa.” Gustus has practically dug a hole in the sand with his pacing. Indra occasionally whispering to him. Causing him to stop and yell. Raven is jumping up and down in her chair yelling supportive words.

And Clarke. Clarke is standing before her, brow furrowed. “Lexa. What is going on?” She puts her water bottle down and steps forward, grabbing Lexa’s hand comfortingly. It’s soft and attentive. And conflicting. Lexa doesn’t understand.

“You’re afraid of me, Clarke. You’re afraid I’m going to hurt you. Or someone.” Lexa says, looking down solemnly at their entwined hands.

The fissure between Clarke’s brow deepens. “Lexa, no.” Taking both hands in hers. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“I saw the fear in your eyes last night.”

“Lexa, that wasn’t fear. That was…I was into it? I like that you stuck up for Parsons. It was brave.”

“But I asked you…you said…”

Clarke sighs. She’s such a stupid tuna. “It’s not _you_ specifically I’m afraid of.” The whistle to start the next point sounds. “I promise we’ll talk about it later. But for now, just know I’m not scared of your power, Lexa. I’m attracted to it.” Clarke gives Lexa a hug that tries to convey all that she is thinking and feeling. “Come on. We got a match to win. Heels up and slam the ball.” She gives Lexa a playful slap on the ass as she goes in for a quick peck on the cheek. Her smile as bright as the sunshine beating down on them. Mentally she files the words she’ll need later to keep her promise. _Tell her you’re afraid of your feelings for her._

 **Chip Gingrich** : Interesting development. But let’s stick to the sport and not speculate on the potential love lives of its players, Mary.

 **Mary Lavier** : Boo. You’re no fun.

 **Chip Gingrich:** Anyway...I hope all of you will join us at 7pm for the final match of the day: Deboy and Parsons versus Sanders and Murray. The winner of this current match and that match we'll face off in the finals tomorrow at 11am.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like that several people called this a slow burn. Because it’s meant to be like a fast burn to the physical, but to get to the layers underneath and the emotions that are there it’s going to take a while. So what burns superficially over an extended period? A sunburn. XD
> 
> I may also be a bit in love with Chip and Mary's dynamic. I'm fascinated by sports casters' weird interactions.
> 
> THANK YOU TO EVERYONE THAT SENT FEEDBACK! I greatly appreciate it. The lack of physical and environmental descriptions seemed to be the most popular critique. I’ll direct you back to the very beginning notes: I am trying to not get too fixated on those for this fic as I write. But I do plan to go back and add some more of them when I turn this into a final draft. I think what also would be helpful is if you could give specific examples of the kind of descriptions that would help make your imaginings more real. Like maybe tell me if you want to know what Lexa is doing with her hands. Or what the atmosphere is like. During specific scenes. Or even tell me what you are imagining is happening even if it’s not written there. Keep the feedback coming, guys! It's great!
> 
> As always, you guys are the best people on the internet and I am so glad you are here!
> 
> One more thing: I've been working on another project behind the scenes. A collection of vignettes that will end up being mini fics such as a titantic AU, Lexa as the first woman in the NFL AU, a softball AU, a medieval AU, pirates, paranormal/scifi thing about lost souls. I have tons of ideas. I am envisioning it as 307 chapters of around 307 words for each chapter. Because frankly I am very tired of being triggered by that number. And as a behavior therapist, I know one of the best ways to get over something aversive is to make a positive association with it. Lord knows we'll never get that from canon. Let me know what you think about this project. And no, it won't take away from publishing to this fic. Don't forget you can talk to me anonymously on the tumblr - paintthebrain. Or just talk to me in general. I already like you. What have you got to lose? :)


	25. Chapter 25

They’ve been in their hotel room for over an hour. Enough time to shower and change. Enough time for Clarke to keep her promise. If she ever comes out of the bathroom.

Lexa checks her watch. They have to be downstairs soon.

Almost as if on cue, Raven texts her:  **See you in 10. Tell Klorke to bring her dancing shoes.**

Lexa sends her a quick response with small exhalation. Thumbs dancing against the thick plastic.

The end of the Deboy/Parsons match is playing on the TV. The announcers are reviewing the highlights and announcing the victors. She hears it more than she sees it. Staring mostly out the window as correspondents debate and speculate on the final: Deboy and Parsons versus Griffin and Woods.

Outside the sun is setting. The San Diego skyline stands with blackened sentinels against braided ribbons of purple and orange. With each passing second another light flickers on in the metal sentries. The day is making war with the night. Hope confronted by reality.

Inside the room, the soft light of postmodern lamps illuminates each corner, giving the wallpaper a luster Lexa hadn’t noticed before. Her chair creeks as she rocks her body stiffly back and forth, patiently waiting for Clarke to come out of her newest hiding spot. The air conditioner is set to full on attack mode courtesy of Clarke. Blowing around a stringent air freshener that Lexa tastes more than she smells.

She suddenly stiffens at the feel of wet hair tickling her cheek. The hot, powerful scent of Clarke’s shampoo washes over her erasing the offensive air freshener from her nostrils and tongue. Steam leaks across them both in waves. Instantly, Lexa feels the stirring in her gut. But this time she’s not sure if it’s arousal or frustration or both.

A hand grazes across her collarbone, snaking its way down her sternum. And just like that arousal pulls ahead. It’s Clarke. She’s emerged from her hiding spot finally. Except this time, it’s not a label, it’s just the bathroom.

She feels Clarke pepper kisses down her neck. Lexa shivers with the rush of it all. She has to maintain control. She won’t let them slip back into old habits. They have to start talking. Working towards something. She doesn’t want ‘not yet’ to be just another thing Clarke hides behind.

“Clarke.” Lexa says pulling away. The chair creaking its agreement. “You promised.”

* * *

Clarke doesn’t mean to keep doing this. Throwing Lexa nuggets. And assurances. And then recanting them. Promising they’ll talk one moment then hiding in the bathroom the next.

She knows it’s wrong, but she’s still learning. The application. The vocabulary.

_“Name it.”_

Clarke is good at throwing barbs and insults and holding her own. But this. This requires a delicate touch.

And the right words always escape her. Especially, with Lexa. Clarke wants her words to be as perfect as Lexa is. Wants to give Lexa everything she’s promised.

But Clarke hasn’t ever been good at keeping her promises when it comes to Lexa. Just one more reason Clarke doesn’t deserve her.

She steps out of the bathroom, with the words she needs on the tip of her tongue. The words she’s been practicing for the last hour in the bathroom mirror and in the shower.

Clarke has every intention of telling Lexa how she feels. How much all of this scares her. But she sees Lexa and just like always she’s stunned into reverence. The instinct to kiss her, caress her takes over.

She nuzzles into Lexa neck from behind. They haven’t touched like this in what feels like forever, but it’s only been a day. She revels in it. Until she feels the tension within Lexa. She tries to sooth it with caresses across her chest.

“Clarke.” Lexa says, pulling away abruptly. It’s a warning. “You promised.”

_Just one more reason you don’t deserve her._

Just like that everything she’s practiced is gone. The words ripped from her mouth.

* * *

Lexa turns in the chair to face her. Watching Clarke with tentative dread. Clarke’s shifting facial expression reveals all to Lexa. She can’t believe she actually thought that Clarke would talk about this willingly. That they would start to make progress. That ‘not yet’ would become ‘someday’. But it won’t. Not if Clarke keeps doing this. Keeps hiding. Keeps digging her heels in and holding them back. It’s too much. The weight is too heavy for Lexa to carry on her own. 

This is it.

This is her line in the sand.

Lexa stands, adjusting the collar of her shirt. Eyes cast down to the beige carpet. She can’t be the one to support them anymore. If Clarke wants this, she’ll just have to follow through. She turns and walks away without a word.

She makes it all the way to the door before regret fills her. She pauses, grabbing the door handle. She wants to run back to Clarke and give her whatever she needs. But she doesn’t. She can’t. She won’t. Not without getting a little bit of what she needs in return. Without looking back, she says, “Anya and raven are waiting.”

She steps through the door finally realizing that maybe love shouldn’t feel like a burden.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! Lexa! Do what you need to do.  
> This is definitely a fav chapter for me.
> 
> Hi everybody! You're all amazeballs! Thank you for being here!
> 
> Soooooo, I have an interview for a state park ranger position on Tuesday. I hope it goes well.
> 
> No one guessed the hangman clue last week so here's another letter:  
> _T_ _ _ _/ T_ _ _
> 
> See you next week: Clexa finally go dancing and jealous!Clarke makes an appearance


	26. Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck Yea Jealous!Clarke  
> Seeds are growing: We find out a few more clues and details about certain things.  
> Just a reminder that clarke's internal conflict is voiced as such:  
> Heart speaking is done in italics with quotations mark.  
> Head speaking or her thinking to herself is just italics.
> 
> I like this chapter a lot. I hope you do tooooooo.  
> Um, but you might not like Parsons after all?

It’s gotten late. But not too late as to make them tired for their match tomorrow. The restaurant part of the hotel has started to empty out, but the bar and dance floor are still thronging with players and other guests, possibly fans staying at the hotel to catch a glimpse of their favorites, and what looks like a few journalists.

Clarke picks at her vegetarian shish kabob. Pulling what she believes to be a piece of butternut squash off the skewer and rolling it in her fingers. She should be full, but she feels empty.

Further down the table, Lexa is dabbing at her plate of quinoa and collards, pushing the food around with her fork, and Clarke wishes, not for the first time, that she was brave enough, good enough to be what Lexa needed.

Out on the dance floor, Raven and Anya are moving to the annoyingly addictive “Lovefool” by the Cardigans. Raven weaves her wheelchair around Anya. They laugh and giggle. Anya occasionally stoops to shake her boobs in Raven’s face, earning a throaty guffaw from Raven that can be heard over the music.

She sighs and moves down to the table to sit next to Lexa. Trying to find a way to apologize for earlier and move forward. When it comes to life, Clarke has always been an over achiever. Excelling at school and volleyball. And nothing else matters. And she’s beginning to realize that maybe some things do, she just doesn’t know how to shift priorities like that. If she can. If she should.

Next to her Lexa continues to be eerily quiet. They haven’t spoken a word to each other since Lexa left their hotel room angry. She dabs a napkin at her pink pouty lips even though from the looks of her plate, Lexa hasn’t eaten anything. Clarke remembers lexa’s plate from last night. And realizes maybe Lexa doesn’t eat very much when she’s upset.

“You should eat something.” Clarke says. It comes out a lot like Gustus would chastise them for not taking their nutrition seriously. And Clarke remembers when she and Lexa were first getting to know each other, first forgiving each other, first becoming friends. And they would sneak off to the boardwalk for fries. Lexa would chat and open up about her family. Stories about growing up as the next part of the Woods Family’s Volleyball Legacy. _Was that when I first started feeling this draw?_

“ _You know when.”_ Her heart ticks.

Lexa puts the napkin down calmly and turns to Clarke slowly. Green eyes piercing. “I’m fine, Clarke.” Clarke will never be over the way Lexa says her name. The way her mouth grasps at the syllables. It’s telltale really. It’s the like the way Lexa wants to hold on to Clarke. Soft, adoring. But Clarke is a dummy and can’t figure out how to be held on to. Not without feeling weighed down.

“ _Try.”_ Her heart ticks again

“Oh, ok. I just worry.” Clarke can feel her voice quavering with the confession.

“I’ll be in peak performance for tomorrow, Clarke. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Clarke wants to say, _no no no it’s not that. I worry about you._ But Lexa is already up and walking toward Anya who is emphatically waving her to the dance floor. Lexa’s chair screeches as she pushes it back in, mirroring the protest Clarke feels burgeoning in her gut. She was getting somewhere. She was _trying_ to get somewhere with Lexa.

Raven reaches the tables with a goofy grin on her face. Clarke should go after Lexa. Or make her intentions known. Or kiss her. Or something. _Something._ Other than sit here. But she doesn’t. And without Lexa to distract her, Clarke is finally hit with the mystery of something.

“You two seem friendly. You and Anya.” Clarke says as raven sets the brakes on her wheelchair.

“We are.” Ravens shifts around, same goofy grin on her face as she to beholds an ecstatic Anya trying to wiggle a stiff Lexa to comply with the beat of a song.

“How?” Clarke wonders. Because up until the Olympics, her and Raven never faced the infamous Woods sisters. They competed in other tournaments or were never in the same pool play. They saw each other. Knew of each other. But raven and Clarke were the lowest on the totem pole. Slowly working their way up to be #2 in the states and finally qualifying for the Olympics. Even if they were #14 in that pool.

“How are we friendly?” Raven asks incredulously, taking a spoon and sampling something from a plate.

“Yea.”

Raven face contorts painfully. “What is that?”

“Quinoa.” Clarke says. Remembering Lexa’s loss of appetite. And how it’s probably her fault.

“Gross. I don’t miss the diet of an athlete that’s for sure.” Raven laughs.

Clarke rolls her eyes and impatiently asks, “How are you friendly?”

“Well, when two people have things in common they talk about them and sometimes they even like each other.”

“I know what a friend is, you dolt.”

Raven laughs harder this time. Leaning far back in her chair.

“You didn’t meet when you and I were playing together. You would have said something.”

“Oh, like how when you ran into _the_ Lexa Woods at that one tournament and you couldn’t shut up about it?”

“That was a long, long time ago. We were teenagers. Anyway, how did you meet Anya?” Clarke doesn’t know why this is important. More important than getting up and telling Lexa she is sorry.

“Would you take fate as an answer?”

“No.”

“Fine. I met her at the hospital.”

“What was she doing there?” Clarke can’t help but scan the room for a second while she asks. Parsons has joined Anya and Lexa. And she’s looking at Lexa like she’s made of boardwalk fries. Like she’ll devour her in two bites. Clarke feels a painful roiling in her gut. Like someone’s spiking volleyballs in her stomach and sand is spraying everywhere inside.

She doesn’t hear Raven’s answer. She doesn’t register that Anya is now at their table. Nothing. Nothing but Lexa and that lesbian trollop matters right now.

Nothing but how Parsons hand skims along Lexa’s tan bicep. Nothing but the way she leans into Lexa as the song slows. Nothing but the way she takes Lexa’s hands and places them on her own waist.

Clarke pushes up from her chair, leaving Anya in midsentence. Both Anya and raven watch Clarke leave and follow her trajectory, when they see what Clarke saw, both women smirk.

Clarke doesn’t know what she’s doing. Why she is moving with such purpose when she is not even sure what her purpose is. But, somehow, her feet carry her to Lexa without her permission. It’s weird. It’s beautiful. It’s just as terrifying as when Lexa does it. Just finds her. Just meets her where she is.

“May I cut in? Good.” Clarke pushes between them without so much as a word of consent from either woman. “Great game today, Audra. We’ll see you on the court tomorrow.” Dismissing the flirtatious woman further.

Parsons scowls and departs. Lexa watches her go, with an unreadable expression. “Clarke.” Lexa says warningly. But the warning is muted by the small affectionate smile on Lexa’s lips. “That was rude.”

Clarke smirks. “Sorry not sorry.” She puts her arms around Lexa’s neck and pulls her in close. “She was flirting with you.”

“And?” Lexa coils her arms around Clarke’s waist and leans her head in, her lips grazing the shell of Clarke’s ear. The music is suddenly upbeat and blaring now, but they’re tucked in close swaying slowly and all Clarke can hear is Lexa. “We’re not together, remember?”

Clarke’s stomach bottoms out. Yea, they are not. But Clarke still feels…

“ _Name it.”_ Her heart whispers.

She shifts uncomfortably in Lexa’s arms for a moment. Trying to identify exactly what pulled her out of her seat and toward Lexa. “I was jealous, ok?” Clarke confesses in a huff.

 Her heart says “ _Yes. That’s true. But that not everything. Why are you jealous? Name it.”_

Lexa nods with a chuckle, “Ok. Thank you for telling me.” And they stay close. The music continues on around them and they continue to sway. Slow. Fast. The song doesn’t matter. All that matters is that they’re together.

 _“Now you’re getting it.”_ Her hearts clucks.

“Lexa, about the promise.” Clarke releases her knot around Lexa’s neck just a little bit, just enough to be able to pull back and look into her eyes.

Lexa pulls her head up. Eyes glistening with focus.

Clarke stammers. Looking for those perfect words that always seem to elude her. “I’m sorry, ok?” Lexa blinks slowly. Clarke watches her weigh the words. Seeing the patience, the kindness makes Clarke feel full again. Makes her remember. This is Lexa. Lexa. “I’m not scared of you. I was never scared of you. This is not your fault. Me. Us. I’m not…I’m sacred of my feelings for you. I’m scared of what I would do to continue feeling them. Of what I would give up to keep you.” She feels full and free and spent. Like being with Lexa intimately always has. But this is a different kind of intimacy. This is different than the fevered kind of teeth and tongue she’s used to using. She’s expressing herself to Lexa. And it feels right. Better.

When she looks fully into Lexa’s green eyes, she sees tears and a smile nearly hidden there. As the seconds pass, Lexa blinks the tears away and the smile grows. Clarke holds her steady. Waiting for her words. Lexa pulls her in close again. So close, so tightly that Clarke feels like they’ll never be able to let go. Clarke sighs with the comfort and rightness of it all. Settling further until he feels Lexa’s lips ghost over her ear again. “See? Was that so hard?”

Clarke pulls away and sees the utter affection in Lexa’s eyes. She pulls Lexa forward, grazing her lips. “You have no idea.” The words breaking like waves into Lexa’s lips before Clarke pulls her in like the tide and kisses her fully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) 
> 
> Yup. :) :) :) :)  
> Any feedback is greatlyappreciated.
> 
> Shoutout to reader jillianjenzel for nailing the hangman clue last week. You are most definitely not a STUPID/ TUNA
> 
> This week's clue:  
> _ _ _ _ _ _ / _ _ _ _ _ _ _
> 
> Thank you to everyone who sent well wishes for my interview. I think it went pretty well!
> 
> As always, I am so glad you are here. You're the best thing on the internet. Yep. Even better than cat videos.
> 
> See you next week: Clarke tries some more. And our girls well they...you know...express themselves further.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smoot smootie for my cutie patooties. (gentle reminder that smoot is how I say smut) Clarke battles her tendency to flip flop. The both express their fears and wants. AND DESIRES. These fucking kids are starting to get their act together. For now.

The hotel lock opens with a beep. Lexa pushes it open with her free hand. The other is still entwined with Clarke’s. They haven’t stopped touching each other in some way since the dance floor.

Reluctantly, Lexa let’s go of the warmth of Clarke’s hand. She heads towards her suitcase and begins to pull her night clothes out. They share shy smiles as they begin to undress. It’s not like they haven’t done this before. They’ve been naked together a hundred kinds of ways, a hundred different times. But this feels different. More than naked. More than stripping themselves down for the sake of touch. More than physical. It’s emotional barriers removed. Unprotected. Exposed.

Lexa turns away and raises her shirt over her head and is about to remove her bra when suddenly she is completely over overcome with shivers. Goosebumps line every inch of her flesh. “Jesus, Clarke! It’s cold.”

“Guess we forgot to turn off the air conditioner.” Clarke says through chattering teeth, brushing her icy fingertips up and down Lexa’s spine.

“And whose fault is that?” Lexa asks incredulously as she flinches away from Clarke’s freezing digits causing her to stumble out of her pants.

“My parents?” Clarke follows her and Lexa feels Clarke’s arms wrap around her waist from behind, both steadying her and stopping her from putting a night shirt on. Lexa is clad only in her bra and underwear and freezing, but warming slightly with Clarke’s embrace. “It’s not my fault I’m naturally hot,” Clarke says into Lexa’s shoulder blade as she presses further into the embrace.

“Ahh, yes good old genetics. Solid defense.”

“Yep.” Clarke says matter-of-factly, turning Lexa in her arms. “DNA leads to the most convictions.” She leans in suggestively whispering hot against Lexa’s lips. “And the most acquittals.” Instead of kissing her, Clarke thrusts her bottom lip out into a pretend pout.

“Swapping DNA with me will not get you off the hook, Clarke.”

“But look I’m pouting. It’s cute, right?” Clarke huffs predictably, when Lexa gives her a spirited glare instead of giving in. “Fine I’ll turn the air conditioner off.”

“Just down a little bit should suffice.” Lexa says as she untangles her night shirt and tries to put it on despite Clarke’s embrace.

“But of course, m’lady.” Clarke releases her grip around Lexa and saunters over to the thermostat pressing the controls seductively.

“Clarke.” Lexa watches her silly attempt at seduction and feels all the more endeared by her. She’s still not sure if they should introduce sex back into their relationship. But Lexa wants to believe things are different now. Her line in the sand all but erased at Clarke’s admittance of feelings.  Still she can’t help but tease Clarke a bit more. After all, their banter, their particular brand of being, is what Lexa fell for. Clarke’s trademark complexity is enough to make Lexa be head over heels for just about ever, but the way Clarke’s nuances bounce off her own, well that definitely solidifies the whole thing.

 It was what gave her the patience to work through and accept Clarke’s tougher personality traits for so long. And now she loves Clarke not in spite of, but because of her flaws. “Clarke. Stop pressing my buttons.”

“Oh these buttons? Or your metaphorical buttons?” Clarke smiles suggestively, “or your sexy metaphorical buttons?”

Lexa laughs harder than she means to, “Stop it, Griffin.”

“No way, madam. Your wish is my command. You are frigid. And here I shall stay until I have met all your HVAC needs…”

Lexa crosses the room in seconds and pulls her hand down from thermostat and places it on her waist. “You can press my sexy metaphorical buttons now.” She says half serious, half joking

 “Sorry, ma’am. I’m all booked up, but maybe we can schedule an appointment…”

Lexa kisses her softly. “Clear your schedule?”

Clarke laughs as she presses into her again. “Already done.”

* * *

Lexa had broken the kiss as it became more and more electric and led them to the bed only to cuddle. At first, Clarke had been disappointed that they didn’t go right to sex, but as they lay on top of the sheets entwined together, her favorite Lexa made a reappearance. The confident yet vulnerable Lexa. And Clarke welcomed a novel feeling. This is a feeling that she already knew the name of but refused to allow Lexa to be the source of. Happiness.

Until this moment she’d only attached this feeling, this name, to winning. Happiness was succeeding. Happiness was making a name for herself and Raven. Until now. Until Lexa.

 _“God. Yes. Nearly there.”_ Her heart pounds out in the tranquil moment.

They are just lying there sharing secrets and speculations and Clarke is _happy._ There are no medals. No announcers. Just her and Lexa.

Lexa brings Clarke’s fingers to her lips. Brushing them tenderly as she talks, skin to sensitive skin. Clarke can feel Lexa scanning, searching, always checking on her comfort level until she purposefully connects her green-eyed gaze with Clarke’s blue.

The air thickens.

With the speed of a well-hit spike, Clarke is on Lexa again. Kissing her feverishly. Pounding their lips together. Like before. Before when she called it lust and prayed that would be enough.

 Lexa goes rigid against her advances. “Clarke?”

Clarke’s instinct is to push into it. Drive them deeper, faster. Kiss Lexa with all the fever she always feels. But Lexa tries to slow them down. Has always tried to push them closer to reverence and further from reckless abandon. Clarke had always wanted to consume, lest she be consumed. But it is clear to Clarke now that Lexa only wants to savor.

Until now, Clarke never wanted to let her. She didn’t want to taste emotions on those plump lips. Never wanted these kisses to be so close to the thing she couldn’t, can’t name. The feelings she so long denied. But tonight, she wants Lexa to fill her up with definitions. Whole lexicons. Names. Ways of feeling. Happiness. She won’t deny Lexa the things she wants anymore.

Clarke pulls away. Looking deep into those eyes. As green as the Thames. As the sea. She’ll sink. But that’s ok. “ _Somethings thrive in the ocean,”_ her heart reminds her. Lexa continues to look at her. Eyes shifting between Clarke’s. Mouth slightly open. Reverent. Hopeful.

Clarke pulls her in slowly by the nape of the neck. And she puts all those words she cannot say into their kiss. Passion. Touch. Support. L…Lo…Lov…

“ _It will come to you.”_

Lexa kisses her back so calmly. So carefully. Clarke can’t believe she waited this long to tastes these kinds of kisses from Lexa. She can’t believe she spent so long denying they existed. The ones that say I love you. You’re special.

 _“No.”_ Clarke can feel the tears stinging her eyes. _“No.”_ She can feel the need to pull back. Run. She can hear her mind screaming for her to flee. But her heart says, _“Stay.”_

So she does. But that’s all she can do in this moment. She can’t move. Can’t kiss back. She feels a slender finger hook under her chin, pulling her back, and away. Guiding her gaze to Lexa’s. “Clarke?” Lexa says for the second time. Questioning. Checking. Scanning.

“I’m trying, Lexa.” She says, Lexa’s touch keeping her still. Grounding her. Bearing the weight of her with a single finger. It’s so very Lexa.

“I know.” Lexa whispers. “I know.” Her face coming closer with each syllable. When the tears finally run free from Clarke’s eyes. Lexa is there to kiss them away.

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut. Tight. To the point of white hot shapes floating across the canvas behind her eyelids. But she can still feel Lexa. Peppering kisses across her laboring brow.

Clarke pulls their foreheads together. She breathes deep the scent of her. Sunblock and surf and sandalwood. She knows beyond a shadow of a doubt now, that she wants Lexa. Wants more. Wants Lexa the way she wants Clarke. But still. The doubt. The belief that won’t matter anyway. They won’t make it.

“Why is it so hard for you to understand that I want you, just you, just the way you are?” Lexa says as she slides a comforting hand over Clarke’s bicep, still keeping their foreheads together.

Clarke is trembling now. A rush of blood too close to the surface. “I want you back, Lexa.” She thinks of the pedestal that Lexa has put her on, how she elevates Clarke for no reason, simply for existing. The fear sinks in again, like a poison, permeating her peace, eating away at the progress she’s trying to make, paralyzing her. She knows she needs to communicate, to tell Lexa what is happening, why it is happening, but the words are locked deep within the tissue.

_“Adapt.”_

Words gurgle and claw at her throat. Molding and manipulating the tissue. Her vocal chords adapt and evolve and shift the syllables. “Whatever stupid retraction or flip flopping I do. Just know that I want you back. It’s just I worry. I don’t think…you...” She exhales with the effort of forcing words out. “Lexa…I’m flawed.”

“I know, Clarke.” It’s sure and serene. She holds Clarke’s bicep firmly. “That’s why I…” The grip loosens. Voice quavering. A deep throaty sigh. “That's why you’re you.” The touch on her arm becomes feather light. A smile grows. “It’s the things that make up you that I want. Everything. The flaws and the perfections.”

Clarke is stunned. “Perfections?”

Lexa’s smile is comforting. Reassuring. “Yes, Clarke. There are things about you that are perfect to me. Your sass. Your creativity. Dedication. Ambition. You’re the one person in the world I could do anything with and never be bored. And to me, that’s perfection. But I know you’re not perfect. Who wants someone that’s perfect?"

Clarke steps back. Relief filling her. All this time she thought Lexa put her on an unobtainable pedestal that she could never live up to. She should have known better. Lexa just knows who she is at the core of her. But then Clarke thinks about how she may have put Lexa on the same pedestal. It’s hard not to when you’ve been drawn to someone since you were 17. Not just breakfast at the Olympics. Not just meeting the Great Lexa Woods at a tournament, since the very first time she saw a 19-year-old Lexa Woods’ picture in the paper. She felt a curious prickling draw even then. How does one cope with something like that? The knowledge of that?

Bravery.

“I do, Lexa. I want someone perfect. I want you.”

Lexa grows serious. “You think I’m perfect?”

Clarke just waves her hand toward Lexa and then nods succinctly.

Lexa breathes out a laugh as her features soften. “If you think I’m perfect you haven’t been paying attention.”

“Oh yeah?’

“Yea. I have a nasty temper when confronted with a powerful singular emotion. I have a tendency to be a people pleaser especially if those people are my parents. I can be very confrontational when I'm hurt. And my feet turn out funny.”

“I like your temperament. It means you’re not a pushover. And I think your feet are cute.”

“I think you’re cute.” Lexa responds sheepishly. Clarke feels so much for her in this moment.

“ _Say it. Tell her.”_

She can’t. Not with words. Not yet. But she puts everything she can into the next kiss. All the definitions, meanings, words she cannot say. But she knows. She understands her feelings. Care. Concern. Want. Desire. And so much more than lust.

Clarke pushes Lexa down into the mattress with the weight of the kiss.

* * *

Lexa pulls back again as Clarke continues to push deeper in to the kiss, she keeps her hands on Clarke’s hips to keep her at bay. They are making so much progress in such a little time and she is scared they will ruin it by bringing sex back into it. Scared Clarke will retract all of her confessions and intentions and hide behind the label of lust again.

“Feeling brave, are you?” Lexa says, putting her own lips just out of reach of Clarke’s

“I think you know I’m feeling a little more than that.” Clarke’s smile almost predatory as she moves in for another kiss.

“Clarke.” She turns her head.

“Hmm?” Clarke latches onto Lexa’s neck instead, elbow’s on either side of it to hold her up, while her fingers seek purchase in Lexa’s hair.

“We need a plan.”

“Well, first, I’m going to kiss you until your breathless. And then I’m going to...” She whispers the words quietly into Lexa’s ear.

Lexa succumbs a little to the sensations Clarke’s lips and whispered promises are causing. “Good plan, but not what I meant.” Her throat becoming drier by the second.

“Ok what did you wanna plan for?” Clarke asks, continuing her kisses up and down the thick band of muscle at the side of Lexa’s neck.

“For when you feel like running again.”

Clarke stops her ministrations and Lexa misses them immediately. Clarke removes her fingers from Lexa’s hair and sits back on her knees, straddling Lexa’s waist. “Maybe I won’t?”

Lexa puts her arms fully around Clarke’s waist bringing their body flush together again and their faces inches apart again. “You don’t fail at many things but we both know you will fail at that.” She smiles earnestly as she brings Clarke’s chin to her shoulder, pulling her into a loving embrace.  “I’d like us to make a plan for when your bravery slips again. Just talk to me, ok? Carry a conversation with me.”

Clarke tucks herself into Lexa’s neck, sighing into the embrace, relaxing her full weight onto Lexa. “About my feelings?” Lexa can feel Clarke’s words reverberate into her collarbone.

“When you feel like running, feel like hiding, talk to me. We’ll figure it out. Maybe start with just one feeling. One thing that makes you feel like you have to run.”

“OK. Solid plan.” She relents her snuggling, pressing herself into a push-up position and looks into Lexa’s eyes. “One feeling. I can do that,” she says seriously.

“Good. We can go back to your plan now.”

The gleam rises in Clarke’s eyes. “Good.”

Lexa licks into her mouth with a careful pressure. Clarke wants more, but this pace, well this pace Lexa is setting is something that never occurred to her until tonight. It’s better. It’s more. It’s perfect. She gets what Lexa means in this moment as she strokes her tongue against Lexa’s. She understands that nobody is perfect. She’s chased perfection her whole life, knowing it was unachievable. But to her it made sense. Reach for the moon and even if you miss you land among the stars. But right now. She knows nobody, nothing is perfect wholly. But it can feel right. It can be right. And that’s a version of perfection.

Nobody’s perfect, but moments can be. And this one is.

She slides her hands down Lexa’s back. Grasping. Seeking.

It’s not desperate. Not like before.

Not really.

But still somehow is.

But it’s not desperation to fulfill a need. To skip to the end. There is urgency, yes, but Clarke is realizing the journey is just as good.

And there are no tears in sight.

She had tried so hard to keep Lexa from putting on her sleep shirt earlier. But now she’s grateful that Lexa had managed to slip it on. Somehow the barrier is just as delectable as the skin to skin contact Clarke always wanted to skip to.

She trails fingertips across the sliver of skin between lexa’s shirt and waist band of her underwear, just below her navel. Slow. Go, slow.

And she tries. She fucking tries. She likes the pace. Sees the beauty in it. But still. It takes some getting used to.

As soon as Lexa pushes her hips up granting pressure against Clarke’s core, the journey becomes a fantastic voyage and she is off at warp speed again.

At least this time she isn’t using her desire for Lexa as a mask.

She just wants her. Has always wanted her. Wanted more.

She wants this to be reverent. For Lexa.

She pauses. Trying to remember the pace Lexa wants. She holds Lexa’s tongue in her mouth. Savoring the flavor. The moment. But god, this is Lexa. The most wonderful person she knows.

Her heart is screaming. _Screaming._ The true name for what she feels.

Lexa lifts a knowing hand to her cheeks and slides her thumb across it. “It’s okay. We don’t have to go slow.”

“Oh thank god.” Clarke laughs lightly as she presses her cheek into Lexa’s hand and then kisses it. She lets herself linger for a moment.

“Take your shirt off,” she says as she rips her own over head and revolves her hips to take off her pants and underwear. She settles herself over Lexa, straddling her. She feels her body buck slightly with Lexa’s quiet laughter and efforts to do as commanded, shirt and underwear removed. She hears the laughter catch in Lexa’s throat as Clarke’s spreads her legs with her own and connects their wet cores, hot and thoughtful. Relief washes over Clarke as she places both hands on Lexa’s breasts and rolls her hips. Lexa arches into her.

So, no, she doesn’t go slow. It’s not her way. Not who she is. But she tries. For Lexa she tries. She keeps eye contact, willing Lexa to see what this means to her this time. They both pant hard. Clarke looks down into the sea of green and knows she won’t drown. For the first time she feels like she can float.

One more stroke and they both do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes Clarke LISTEN TO YOUR HEART THERE'S NOTHING ELSE YOU CAN DO. If you know that song, high five the shit out of me.
> 
> Anyway, I'm back bitches. This chapter and the next were originally outlined as 5 separate chapters, but as I started writing I didn't like the flow or the structure. It just seemed a bit choppy. So alas, you get two beefy chapters in a row for your patience! I've also been working on some stuff for that 307 collection I mentioned. I'm not sure if I'm ready to start posting, but keep a look out for it anyway because I can be impulsive with stuff like that. I'm a perfectionist so sometimes I just have to drop the axe and stop worrying about it.
> 
> Send your feedback, lovelies. I'm super happy you're still here after all this time.  
> (I can't say 'after all this time' without thinking about Snape.)
> 
> The hangman clue is still unanswered so here is another letter:  
> _ _ S _ _ S/ _ _ I _ _ _ V


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This shit is cute. You have been warned.

The first tendrils of sunlight comb through the room like her fingers through Lexa’s hair.

Clarke shifts comfortably under the covers. The weight of Lexa’s arm is not as heavy as she once thought it was. She tucks herself further into Lexa ‘s side, lifting her hand to continue carding through Lexa’s tussled mane. Reveling in her new found bravery. To be able to hold Lexa like this. Without fear coercing her every thought.

_“We deserve this. Hashtagtreatyoself.”_

Clarke smiles at the internal workings of her heart. Grateful that her mind is blissfully silent. Clarke indulges further in this new found voice. She leans up and kisses Lexa on the lips. Not because of desire or lust or to fulfill a want. She does it just because. Just because it’s Lexa.

She considers Lexa’s every feature. Stroking kind fingertips down the bridge of her nose, over the shell of her tiny ears. She’s always known Lexa was attractive. From the first moment she saw her. But now. She’s thinks she’s never seen anyone more beautiful. Inside and out.

She stays until the fingers of light become a hand and smack her in the face. She hears a bristling flap at the door. It’s probably guest services dropping the paper off.

Clarke takes in the sight of a peaceful Lexa one last time before rousing herself out of bed, and pulling a robe over her body.

She opens the door quietly and picks the paper up off the floor. She shifts and shuffles the pages looking for the sports sections. She expects a tiny little blurb about the Sun and Sand Classic in the bottom corner of the back page, but when she finds the title page her stomach bottoms out and her heart pounds.

_“What? What is happening?! Why are we scared? Not again! WTF, Clarke?”_

* * *

> **San Diego Tribune**
> 
> **Sports**
> 
> May 24th, 2015
> 
> _Enemies to Lovers?_
> 
> _By Mars Harteyz_
> 
> Who can forget the now infamous gif? We’ve all seen it. Clarke Griffin pushing Lexa Woods off the gold medal podium. Or perhaps you remember the autotune of Griffin telling Lexa woods off. It went viral on YouTube holding the number 1 trending spot for almost a week. Prepare for the next internet explosion. Pictured below is Griffin and Woods sharing a tender kiss at a San Diego hotel last night.

* * *

Lexa pretends to sleep as long as she can, rejoicing in Clarke’s tender touches. It was the kiss that woke her. Lexa thinks that she could be dead and one press of Clarke’s lips would bring her back to life over and over again.

She feels Clarke leave the bed. The hotel door opens and closes. The sound of rustling of paper echoes through the room. Then silence.

She senses it immediately. The change in Clarke. In a second, her eyes are open and she pushes herself up on to her hands.

The air in the room is tense and she can see Clarke body tight with tension. Like a coil. Like a gazelle preparing to flee.

Lexa is on her feet, grabbing her night-shirt and throwing it on over her underwear as she moves as fast as she can to quell Clarke’s fear. “Clarke. Please don’t. Whatever your about to do. Whatever you feel like you need to escape from. Remember the plan. Talk to me.” She puts steady hands on Clarke’s jumping shoulders. Her breaths coming short burst. “Remember the plan.” She says again. “One feeling.”

Clarke finally takes a deep breath. On the exhale, she says, “That’s the problem with this plan. It’s not just one feeling.”

“Ok.” Lexa slides her hands down Clarke’s arms, rubbing them in a soothing motion. “Can you name any of them?”

“All of them?” She watches Clarke try to smile. “I don’t know.”

“How about we adjust the plan. What caused this?”

Clarke lifts her hands, stopping Lexa’s soothing motions, and shakes the paper open to the sports section.

“Oh.”

“Yea.”

“it’s just a picture.” She knows they are the wrong words before she finishes uttering them.

Clarke turns away furious. “To you maybe! The great Lexa Woods! You’ve gotten a gold medal in every tournament you’ve ever competed in!”

Lexa gives her space to process. Letting her rant as she paces back and forth across the room, the thin sheer curtains shuddering slightly with each pass.

“Some of us are still trying to make a name for themselves. I don’t want to be pigeon-holed because of tabloid fodder. I don’t want to be known as the girl who pushed Lexa Woods off a podium. I don’t wanna be known as your girlfriend.”

Lexa can’t help it. Those words hurt.

But Clarke recovers quicker than ever. “Not _only_ as your girlfriend. I’m terrible at words. But I do want that. I’m getting there.” Clarke says softly, mid-stride away from Lexa in her pacing. She looks quickly over her shoulder.

It’s obvious to Lexa now. She doesn’t know why she didn’t see it sooner. “Clarke. That won’t happen.”

Clarke stops in her tracks. “No?”

Lexa realizes the error in her syntax. “Not the girlfriend part. I’m ready whenever you are.” She tries to say lightly. “I mean you not being able to make a name for yourself. You’re special.” She moves so that she is standing behind Clarke’s frozen form. Not touching, but still supporting “Think about it. The only time I didn’t win a gold medal in the Olympics was because you did. You defeated me. And now we’re partners. You don’t have to worry about my shadow. We share the same one now.”

Clarke finally relaxes back into Lexa, letting her bear her weight, a smile rising in her eyes. She turns her head so that her lips are grazing Lexa’s jaw. “I did kick your ass, didn’t I?”

“Not really.” Lexa can’t believe they are joking about that match. Almost as if they can forget the pain it cuased literally and figuratively and finally move on. “Fine you spanked me hard,ok?”

Clarke bucks her butt into Lexa and throws a blind hand behind her to smack Lexa’s ass “Not as hard as I have wanted to, but we have time.”

A silence settles over them as Lexa holds her tightly, Clarke’s back settling like a seam against her.

“Better?” Lexa asks nudging her nose against Clarke’s hair.

“Yea. Who knew talking about feelings could help.” She turns in Lexa’s embrace.

“The majority of the population, Clarke.”

“Yea, well, call me unique.” She leaves a quick kiss on Lexa’s nose and retracts back to watch Lexa’s eyes uncross.

“I already told you were special.” Lexa says with a pretend groan. “Gotta keep feeding that ego, do i?”

“Nah. Just breakfast.” She inches closer again. “Feed me, Lex.”

“Alright, we’ll pack then head down to the restaurant.” Lexa says as she facetiously breaks Clarke’s embrace, moving towards her suitcase.

“Ok.” Clarke grabs her arm, stopping her forward momentum. “But first….” She pulls Lexa closer to the bed. “This maybe our last opportunity to…” Brushing her lips against Lexa’s for a moment. Lingering for a second before she pounces away. “…JUMP ON THIS BED!”

“I think we tortured the springs enough last night, don’t you?” Lexa says looking up at a boisterous Clarke.

“Nope.” Clarke tip toes to the edge of the bed and holds out wiggling fingers to Lexa.

Lexa rolls her eyes before joining Clarke. Reveling in this playful, carefree Clarke. Jumping alongside her. Both giggling until the morning wanes and they are forced to attend to other priorities. Like breakfast. And _finals_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Today is the 1 year anniversary of this fic. Thank you all so much for being here! As a special treat to yourselves your should google images of tunas. Look at their stupid faces. Lololololol! Probably my fav thing on the internet besides all of you (and cat videos).
> 
> Congrats to FantasyAddict for guessing the hangman clue! The answer was Gustus Plinkov.
> 
> Next clue _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ / _ _ _ _ _
> 
> Also, remember that time Clarke fell off a Treadmill because of her thirst. Haha we're making progress, friends.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke finally names it. God that girl is worse at defining things than a digital dictionary with a broken .exe. function. If you haven’t reread the story recently may I suggest you do? At the very least read chapter 9. Clarke’s entire POV has been building to this moment.

10 points into the second set and it’s pretty much a dead heat. They lost the first set 15-13

She squeezes a bottle and a stream of water falls across her sweat-slick brow, cascading down her cheeks, wetting her lashes.

This isn’t going the way Lexa thought it might. The stands are filled to the brim with fans. Some sporting signs and rainbow flags. Lexa has never hidden her sexuality, but she’s never really had anyone to hide. She doesn’t really care for the spotlight much, but she was groomed for it, taught to be indifferent at all cost. This doesn’t bother her.

Anya texted her from the stands to wish her luck and to tell her that there was a hot debate on twitter about her and Clarke’s portmanteau. #Woofin and #Clexa were both trending.

She expected a balk from Clarke at the news of that and at the sight of LGBT fans coming out in droves to support them. But thus far Clarke showed no signs of running except to every spike and serve sent her way. Their playing had been smooth, flawless, phenomenal. Other than the fact that Parsons and Deboy are probably playing the best game they’ve ever played (despite the fact those two are arguing and shouting at each other more than Clarke and Lexa ever had even at their worse), everything is going rather well. So much better than Lexa thought it might.

It makes her uneasy.

She looks left to Clarke and finds her with an indifferent smile, a little water dribbling down her lips from a misguided sip from her own water bottle. Lexa can’t help but answer with a smile of her own. She sees the little cracks in Clarke then. Because Clarke is _not_ indifferent. She’s a ball of rage, a snappy jokester, sensitive, irritable, enthusiastic. Even when she tries for neutral it’s really just boiling below the surface. A simmering caldera of emotions.

So, no, this match is not going the way Lexa thought it would. Because Clarke is _trying_. And that seems to be doing the trick right now.

Gustus crouches in front of them both, as the warning whistle blows, the sitting-timeout almost over.

“The giant is tall yes, but unstable. You get her off balance, no block. No chance. Move scale in our favor, yes? No more of this see-axe.”

“Saw. See-saw.” Indra says handing Lexa a towel. “He’s right. The only reason you guys are tied is because Deboy is reading the placement, Lexa, and blocking your spikes.”

Lexa wipes the mixture of sweat and water off her brow. “I stutter step. Juke. I’m not sure what else I can do.”

Clarke tugs at a corner of Lexa’s towel and wipes the drops of water free from her lips. “He didn’t say it for you. He means I need to be more creative with how I place the ball for you.”

Gustus touches his nose and points at Clarke with the other hand. “Ding, ding, ding, princess!”

“What did I win?”

Parsons walks by just then. She mutters “dyke” as she accidentally on purpose kicks sand up at them with her strides.

Lexa looks quickly to Clarke to gauge her reaction to the word, but she still appears fine, if not angered a little. However, Gustus is not fairing as well, his cheeks are burning red and nostrils are flared. He glares needles at Deboy as she struts away with an apologetic Parsons trailing behind her back toward the court.

He snaps out of it, “Well, princess you win opportunity to destroy that homophobic gorilla.” He says defiantly, returning his gaze to Clarke.

Clarke laughs, “You don’t know the difference between saw and axe, but you know the word homophobic?”

His smile is visibly muted through the whiskers of his beard. “Yes, princess. First English word I ever learned.”

* * *

 

 

>   
>  Mary: Welcome back to the finals of the sun and sand classic. Can I call it or what, Chip?
> 
> Chip: The match? Of course, Mary, that’s your job.
> 
> Mary: I meant another kind of match. [winks at the camera and then at chip.]
> 
> Chip: Ugh. Yes, fine. We all read the paper this morning. Saw the twitter explosion. They kissed. Wonderful. Can we please get back to the action?
> 
> Mary: [snorts] action? [Sniggers childishly]
> 
> Chip: [Face palms]

* * *

They easily out clipped them in the rest of the second set, but Parsons and Deboy must have conferred during the break between the second and third set and figured out what Clarke was doing to disable Deboy’s blocks. It’s a dead heat again 19-20 in favor of Parsons and Deboy.

And Mount St. Clarke is tremoring with warning signs of an explosion, as she stands at the service line.

This is the Clarke she was expecting. The impassioned outbursts, the intermittent bouts of tacit fury in between. Lexa can tell Clarke is starting to get frustrated. She calls a standing-timeout and pulls Clarke to the center of the sand on their side of the court.

“Do I need to evoke the plan for this too?”

Clarke, bent over and heaving with fury, snaps her eyes to Lexa from where she’d been staring daggers at Deboy. “No.” She says it childishly. Lexa wades carefully into Clarke’s turmoil.

“You’re sure?”

“Ugh, fine. We should be destroying them.”

“And?”

“No and.” She sighs. “Fine. Annnnnd I hate that some of the fans are only here because they think we might be gay for each other.”

“We are gay for each other, Clarke.”

“Yea, well, would it kill them to appreciate my talents?”

“I appreciate your talents.” Smoothing a kind thumb over Clarke’s cheeks as she pulls her up to standing.

Lexa tries not to let it bother her when Clarke flinches away.

But it does.

\--

Clarke thinks she’s doing a pretty damn good job at not letting the crowd get to her, at pretending why they are here doesn’t bother her. Pretending their novel support is just because she is queer doesn’t burn her skin and make her so angry. Make her wish to high heaven that Lexa had not been so damn kissable.

_I’m fine._

_“No you’re not.”_

She promised Lexa she would try.

She feels like she has spent her whole life just trying to make it. Scratching and clawing her way. Writing her name (and Raven’s) across the sand. Eking out an existence of up-downs and digs and 6mile runs on the beach hiding from her true wants and needs and calling them distractions. It feels an awful lot like surviving.

Until Lexa.

The seagulls sound their annoying song but can barely be heard over the throng of fans.

She’s determined to show the fans that she is worth her ardor no matter who she kisses.

She’s half way through the motions of her serve when she freezes. Great gulping knots form in her throat. She barely registers the concern in Lexa’s eyes before she hears the corresponding whistle for a 1-minute standing time out. No benches. No coaches. Just her and Lexa.

“Do I need to evoke the plan for this, too?”

Lexa talks her down, talks her out of her emotional tail-spin. Just like always.

“ _Name it.”_

Lexa slides a thumb across her cheek, gently pulling her up from the bent over position Clarke doesn’t remember getting herself into, she’s stunned for a moment before she hears the roar of the crowd again and instinctually flinches away.

She doesn’t want to flinch away, but she does. She doesn’t want to be checking the crowd’s response, but she does. She doesn’t want to find hurt in Lexa’s eyes when she finally connects their gazes, but she does.

She doesn’t want Lexa to walk away, but she does.

God. She is never going to get this right. She tries to be sorry. She tries to show Lexa all this pretending is getting to her. To communicate it. Lexa takes her place at the net, eyes cast at the sideline.

This isn’t Lexa’s fault. She knows that. Not even deep down. On the surface. Just under her skin. Clarke knows she’s being stupid. She understands that now. She understands the value of communicating that to Lexa. But she can’t stop. It’s not who she is. Not yet.

Maybe someday.

Lexa had said that they needed to be more careful where they got it on. But Clarke didn’t, couldn’t. She’s not rational. Especially when it comes to Lexa.

She stares at Lexa. At her jaw and her abdomen. She’s a perfect physical specimen, but all Clarke can see is Lexa’s expression when Clarke tickles her above her belly button or dips a tongue below it. Or the way Lexa’s jaw sets and shifts when she’s mad. Standing here, she’s failing, falling apart and all she needs, all Clarke can _see_ is the little pieces of Lexa that she …

She may not know exactly what knowing all those little pieces of Lexa means but she knows…

This means something.

_“Name it.”_

She hears the 30 second whistle sound for the end of time out. But now Lexa fades out of view and Clarke storms into her thoughts reviewing every moment that has ever meant something. Trying to figure out exactly what it means.

* * *

She’s 6 the first time she ever touches a volleyball. In the backyard, with her mother and father, is where she learned what love meant.

The charcoal grill wafting smoke and the delicious scent of cooking hamburgers. Her Daddy’s blue eyes focused but smiling as he tosses the ball to her. “Again!” She shrieks, giggling until her father would pick her up and tickle her. He carries her other to her smiling Mommy flipping the burgers onto buns.

She’s 9 the first time she ever lays eyes on her future best friend and teammate. Clarke sees the bruises that line the girl’s arms.

The scuffing of flip flops and sneakers against the wooden pier loll her into a sense of comfort. Gripping her father’s fingers, she skips to a rhythm only she can hear. A conversation goes on above her, between her Mommy and Daddy. They stop moving and Clarke skips ahead. Until she can’t feel the rhythm anymore. All she feels is sad. In front of her, a girl is crying. She’s sad and Clarke wants to comfort her. But she doesn’t know how. She doesn’t know if she can make her better.

She’s 10 when she finally has the courage to talk to that girl. Mommy and Daddy brought her to watch the tournament.

Clarke is full and free and happy. She sees the little girl again. She still looks sad. Clarke feels brave enough to walk up to her. Brave enough to talk.

“You’re my new best friend.” Is all she says.

She’s 13 the first time she decides she wants to be a competitive volleyball player.

Her mom and dad are getting them wrist bands for the rides on the pier. Clarke is watching people play volleyball below. Raven is adjusting her collar to compensate for the wind or to hide the cigarette burn just below her clavicle. Clarke’s not sure so she touches her hand, letting her know that she’s there for her. No matter what.

“I want to play volleyball. I want to go to the Olympics. Do you want to come with me?” She says still looking down at the courts.

“I’ll go wherever you go.” Raven replies.

Raven is there for her, too. No matter what.

This is friendship. _This_ is what love means.

She’s 15 when she meets a nice boy in her English Lit class. He surfed and had blonde hair in wave-washed, sun-bleached chunks. His name was Derek.

He smiles at her when he walks up from the shore, toting his surf board. He sticks the board in the sand and watches her do practice volleys with Raven and a few friends. It’s been a few months since they started dating. Clarke gets a swoop in her stomach when he kisses her beneath the pier.

She’s not even old enough to drive. This isn’t love. But it could be.

She’s 16 old when her parents hire an elite coach to train her and Raven. They stopped going to school. She stopped seeing Derek.

The tears are fresh in her eyes when Titus, their coach, strolls up, hard-edged and concentrated like always.

“Why are you crying?” His voice even but still scolding.

Raven is holding her. “Her boyfriend broke up with her.”

“Merely a distraction.” Titus says picking a ball up off the sand. “Do you want to be distracted or do you want to be a champion? Feelings are weakness.”

Clarke stiffens her lip, takes one gulping breath, and sets her shoulders, taking the ball from his hand.

She doesn’t know if it was love, but she can’t afford to be weak ever again.

She’s 17 years when she starts in the junior circuit with 18-year-old raven. She hears the name Lexa Woods so often she wonders if it’s a type of volleyball move. No, one of her competitors explains, she and her sister are the youngest combined ages to ever become Olympic hopefuls, daughters of two indoor legends of their respective genders. Mother Gayle Carnam and Jason Woods. Clarke thinks she and Raven can beat that youngest age thing.

She’s 18 years old. Just competed in her first ever International Volleyball Association sanction tournament. She looking at highlights in the paper. She sees a list of ranked teams. Her and raven aren’t on there yet. But if they take the rest of the tournament they might be. Her eyes are immediately drawn to one picture. She can’t shake the sensation that washes over her. It makes her feel weak for days.

She’s 19 when she kisses a girl. When she kisses another girl. When she loses her virginity. It’s not a distraction. It’s not love, not something to hold onto. Just touches. Just distractions. Just weakness.

She’s 21 when she is finally good enough to compete in the same tournaments against Lexa. But still not of high enough seed to compete against her. But she does run into to her. Literally. It’s all she talks about for the next day and a half. Not volleyball. Not strategies. Not how to get better. Just Lexa. And her eyes and skin and warm smile. That should have been her first clue.

She’s 22 when she finally makes it to the Olympics. She and Raven are not gonna beat Lexa and Anya’s youngest ever title. But she can still beat them. She’s going to destroy them and win the gold medal. Beat the best and be the best. But she sees Lexa at the breakfast table in the Olympic village and she feels weak again. It’s her attraction. It’s the curious prickling draw, she tells herself. She needs to ask her out. Make out. Get out. Get her out of her system. Get away from the distraction.

She wins the gold medal, but loses everything else. Raven, her self-respect as she coils in on her guilt, her chance to find out what the curious prickling draw could mean.

She’s 24 when fate brings them together again. When she gets the chance to figure out what Lexa means. But she doesn’t take it. Too afraid she’s not worth the woman she’s always wanted. But as the time passes Lexa makes it even more impossible not to want her, not to want her beyond than what Clarke can name.

It’s a few weeks past the truce. They’d snuck out to get boardwalk fries. To indulge in a moment of freedom away from the pressures of training. She can taste the salt and vinegar on her lips, bitter and briny, but when Lexa absentmindedly swipes at the corner of Clarke’s mouth with her thumb wiping away the remnants, Clarkes thinks she’s never tasted anything sweeter.

It’s Thanksgiving. She’s watching her mother and father interact. The way they hold each other. It’s true love. The way they bounce off each other. The way her father is so in tuned to her mother. How strong they are despite all the Clarke put them through. The sacrifices they made to keep her in training nearly broke them.

Her phone chimes again and again. She can’t find the courage to text back. No matter how much she might miss her.

They had only been hooking up for a month when Clarke finds herself in the room with the large marble floor and the leather couch. Everything is glowing with the crackling fire in the fireplace and two small candles, in the shape of a 2 and a 5, stuffed into a small cup of her beloved boardwalk fries, still steaming. “Happy Birthday, Clarke.”

Clarke, remembers the exact tone of Lexa’s voice, how it made her feel. It’s like a backyard cookout and touching a volleyball for the first time. It’s finding a best friend in an unexpected place. It’s surfboards and sand and clumsy kisses beneath a pier, her heart learning to speak, learning what love could mean.

She’s 25 now and she realizes the memories she’s made in the last 8 months, the moments that matter now, _really_ matter, involve Lexa in some way. That is her last clue.

* * *

 

The final whistle sounds.

 _“Name it.”_ Her heart _commands_ her.

_Love._

_I love her._

Clarke lofts the ball in the air and serves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I kept a list of things I am most proud to have written. This chapter would be on there. Thanks for coming along on this journey with me. [Click here to TUMBLE](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with me.
> 
> Nobody got the Hangman clue yet:  
> _ _ _ R _ _ _ _ _ / _ R _ _ _
> 
>  


	30. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi I'm back! The olympics are here! Some events start today with the opening ceremonies on Friday. I thought I'd post as often as possible during these great and glorious games even though this fic is about the summer olympics. D O N' T C A R E. Sand or snow. I love the olympics.
> 
> ALSO: YAY! A little more Gustus perspective.

The last dregs of true sunlight cut across the Pacific Coast Highway in phases, reaching out to the grasses that grow out of the sandy dunes, pressing across bridges. The dying rays push, weasel, permeate through cliffs and gorges and trenches cut by coastal wind and rain water runoff. Indra drives the team minivan back to the mansion. Gustus spent in the front seat, after devoting the first 40 minutes of the drive yelling himself into a nap.

Now it is quiet as a graveyard.

If the graveyard had nonstop a Backstreet Boys playlist and the robot lady from google maps telling the corpses where to rest.

Clark’s trying to distract herself. Because god. She’s in love. Probably for the first time in her life.

Definitely this deep for the first time.

She’s in love with Lexa.

And Clarke just let her down. Again.

She considers Lexa out of the corner of her eye. Not daring to look at her. Because if Lexa looks will she see Clarke’s _Serdte Glaza_ now too? Will Lexa know that Clarke loves her?

Lexa fiddles with her own fingers. Tracing a line down one and up the other with each finger of her opposite hand. Her feet slide back and forth on the floor of the van.

She doesn’t look at Clarke. Just out the window.

She deserves this. To know she has found someone that makes her want to speak volumes. But all the wrong words. Someone she wants to build a home in, but can’t set the foundation. Someone she wants to love. But just doesn’t know how.

 

\--

She’s not mad that they lost. Lexa could care less. She’d had her fair share of wins and losses in her career. She knows the taste of defeat almost as well as blue Gatorade and boardwalk fries. It’s part of the game. There’s always someone better.

She’s mad that Clarke was upset, that something was wrong and she didn’t let Lexa help. She’s mad that Clarke is still not letting her all the way in.

She watches the scenery fly by. Bridges and gorges and trenches.

Her feet rub absent mindedly on the carpet, the plush fibers a relief from the harsh and heated sand she plays on. The burning scratching grains.

Lexa thinks about her line in the sand. The one she drew.

It’s not a line. it’s a trench.

And it’s always been there.

Clarke is the one that dug it.

Charades.

No matter what Lexa does. No matter how patient she is. No matter how long she waits for not yet to turn into now.

Lexa has spent the entirety of their relationship building bridges across the trench Clarke created. Only to watch her burn them down.

She’s only been fooling herself.

Clarke is the one she loves.

Clarke is her best friend.

And finally the thought she has pushed away for so long. Denied and pretended wasn’t a possibility.

Clarke is her everything, but maybe she’s not Clarke’s.

\--

He wakes when the car stops. Wiping the drool from his beard as both rear sliding doors open.

“Perhaps…Perhaps you were too hard on them.” Indra says in Russian as she pulls the key out of the ignition.

He didn’t mean to yell so much. He never does, but Clarke. Lexa. He can’t believe they lost. After everything. After all he has tried to teach them.  He watches them inch their way up the mansion’s walkway, Clarke a few paces ahead of Lexa, defeat in their bones. The mansion door opens, Lexa goes left. Clarke goes right.

Stupid stubborn ostriches.

They buried their heads.

Their hearts.

And all the ooey gooey bits in between.

He will give them their space to grieve. He will allow them a moment to breathe. But then he will make them talk to each other. He will be a stern guiding hand. No longer teaching, but showing them the way. No longer match making. But making them match. Like he knows they can. Like he knows they do. Anger is weakness.

He hauls his barrel body out of the front seat of the minivan.

He should have got an SUV like Indra wanted.

Less stress on his extraordinary long femurs.

He unplugs his phone from the console, shuts off the navigation, and slips it in his pocket as he hums “The One” by The Backstreet Boys all the way back to the mansion.

One hour.

He will give them one hour.

\--

He finds Lexa first.

She is slumped into a chair on the second floor porch. Eyes glossy and abandoned, lost in thought.

He opens the sliding door and steps out into the warm spring air.

“No more hinting.”

Lexa doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t budge. Her mouth barely moves when she speaks. “You spent almost the entire car ride not hinting. You’ve made your feelings about the match very clear.”

“I meant you, Watergun.”

This causes Lexa to turn her head. She considers him for a moment before she looks back out to the ocean again, back out over the courts, tucking her knees up. “She knows how I feel.” She whispers as she lays her chin on her knees.

“It is not your feelings that are the problem, yes?”

* * *

Her feet move. They carry her. They know where they are going before she commits to it consciously. Like always. Like _always._

Lexa pushes open the thick wooden door.

She’s there. Clarke is there. And Lexa is stunned into silence. The fire is low. The black marble hoards the light, keeping the amber glow bound to the dark stone. Clarke’s head hangs into her hands, elbows on knees. It’s quiet, but for the pop of a dying ember. It’s quiet, but for the small weeping breaths coming from Clarke.

* * *

Clarke knows it’s Lexa. Clarke knows her footfalls and her countenance and the very music of her being. The ways Lexa smells; during sex, after sex, during a game, eating breakfast. All vastly different experiences. The way her voice changes just for Clarke; when they’re arguing, when they’re joking, when she’s concerned. Clarke knows the minutia of Lexa.

And now Clarke knows why. She loves her. She loves every part of her.

Even this part. The quiet apprehension.

“I don’t wanna fight, Lexa.”

The wrong words. Always the wrong words.

They cut. Clarke knows it. Lexa’s hurt bleeding through her words. “If you think I came here to fight you don’t know me at all.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to say half the things I say.”

“I know that.”

“So if I’m such an ass why are you here?”

“To fix this.”

“It's in the past.”

“I didn’t mean the match. I meant the fact that you still can’t talk to me.”

“I’ve never been good at that. Volleyball is what I m good at. The perfect dig. The right touch.”

“you don’t have to be good at something to do it. Were you always good at volleyball?”

“No. I just wanted to do it. So I did it.”

“So do that now. Decide. Touch or carry, Clarke? Are we gonna do this for real or am I always going to be a violation?”

Clarke wishes she were better. Clarke wishes she didn’t ruin everything she touches. She ruined raven. And she’ll ruin Lexa too. The only things she hasn’t ruined yet is her career. And even that is hanging on by a very frayed cord. Clarke lays her head in her hands again, not knowing what to say. Desperately wanting to get it right. A deep, heavy, longing sigh leaves her body. Clarke can feel herself collapsing under the weight of all that she feels. About herself. About Lexa. All the things she sacrificed to be here. It’s too heavy to carry anymore. Too hard to hold.

She not good enough. She’ll never be good enough. One gold medal doesn’t make her a champion. Finding the one person she wants to give her heart to doesn’t make it a forever kind of love.

She feels Lexa take the space beside her on the couch. A quivering hand comes to rest on her back. It should be another weight. Another thing she can’t carry.

But Lexa’s always been the lightest thing in her life. No matter how heavy Clarke tries to make her feel.

Lexa’s voice is even lighter than her touch. Softer. A caress with words. “What do I have to do to make you trust me?” Lexa slides a finger under her chin, pulling their gazes together. “To trust us?”

Lexa is sitting there practically begging Clarke to trust her. Trust what they have is real and Clarke can’t. Too much of a life spent surviving, she doesn’t know how to live.

 _Make Raven walk again._ It’s the first thing she thinks. Not because she hasn’t forgiven Lexa, but because she hasn’t forgiven herself. Because if Raven can walk again it means that miracles exist. And if Miracles exist then maybe they can make it. Maybe forever is possible. If miracles exists then so do happy ever afters.

“ _YOU SAID THAT OUTLOUD, DUMDUM!”_ Her heart furiously cries.

She knows it’s true as soon as she looks at Lexa. She sees the words wash over her like a tsunami. The hurt, the anger, the fear are all locked within that verdant gaze.

“I thought you forgave me. You said it wasn’t my fault.” It’s such a pained whisper that Clarke flinches from it. From the hurt she caused Lexa. Has always caused her.

“No, Lexa. It’s…”

“No you didn’t forgive me?”

“Yes. Lexa no. No it’s not that.”

She watches Lexa break and Clarke knows whatever the next words come out of Lexa’s mouth, she will agree to them. She’ll give Lexa whatever she wants.

“Fine, Clarke. You win. I quit.”

Clarke watches her go. The door shutting softly behind her. Somewhere a small piece of her says this is for the best. Destroy this. Destroy it before it destroys them both.

_You win._

Clarke’s never been a very good at losing.

But she thinks maybe she’s lost so much more this time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I broke my own heart with this chapter but it was always in the cards. Clarkie clarke has a funky bunch of reality rubs about her self-worth. Overcompensating in some areas and just not even bothering to compensate in others, especially areas that involve Lexa (who knows Clarke true worth even if Clarke doesn't). I promise a super fluffy third act with a MONTAGE and happy ending.


	31. Chapter 31

It hurts. It hurts so much that she doesn’t think she can breathe. Her body is commanding her to go back downstairs. To open that heavy oak door and accept whatever Clarke can give her.

But she can’t.

She won’t.

She blindly stuffs whatever she can find into a duffle bag.

She sent Anya a text as soon as she got into the room. Anya will pick her up and they can fly home together.

Lexa is in so much pain that she doesn’t hear the door open.

Gustus doesn’t say anything. He just pulls her into a hug.

“I can’t stay.” Lexa says. “I can’t.”

“I know, my Lexa. I know.” He holds her close. “I will help you find partner if you wish.”

“I just want to go home. I can’t think about volleyball right now.”

“I meant girlfriend partner.” A delicate smile rubs across his lips. He wipes a tear from her cheek. “It will all work out, Watergun.” He ducks his head to catch her lowered gaze. “You will see.”

Lexa nods and clears her throat. “Thank you for everything you have done for me.”

“I am not done yet.” He picks up her bag. “I still have to be your merry mule." He flashes her a kind smile as he wiggle the bag playfully.

Lexa finally lets out a small laugh as they exit her bedroom.

* * *

Clarke sits on the steps that lead out to the sand. The courts are dimly lit and the wind blows the sand sporadically just like the day first Clarke gave in to what she was feeling.

She had to leave the room with the marble floors and come outside.

She needs the air.

She hears a car horn and the front door opens and shuts.

She’s been holding herself together.

Telling herself it is better this way.

But now great choking sobs pierce the night air. She’s a coward. A fool. A failure.

She tries to hold them. Keep them at bay. It’s pointless. They come out in painful gasps. She growls struggling to keep them in.

She barely hears the sliding door open.

“Oh princess.” It’s soft and endearing as he takes a seat beside her on the steps. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t mean to.” She clutches at him and shakes. “I didn’t mean to.”

 “I know, my princess. I know.” Gustus shifts her weight until he is supporting her fully. She tucks her head into his lap as the tears continue to stream. “But Watergun. She was like the tide, yes? Kept pulling you both along. Moving you both forward. But even the tide recedes. The pull must be returned. Or it has no choice but to disappear.”

They go silent and the tears fade after a while. He holds her until she falls asleep.

* * *

It’s Monday.

A week after she had set foot back in Ocean City. A week after Gustus announced their split to the press. She crawled into her twin bed the moment she arrived. Her mother and father have not spoken to her. Lexa doesn’t care if they are disappointed. Doesn’t care if she lives up to another of their hopes and dreams for the Woods legacy. She just wants to lay here underneath the sheets and pretend none of this ever happened.

She can hear Gustus’ voice admonishing her attempts to give up: “Stupid stubborn ostrich.”

She’s burying her head in the sand.

Lexa should have been in Daytona this past weekend. Winning the Daytona Classic. But she doesn’t have a partner. She’s not sure if she wants to find a new one.

She looks around her childhood bedroom. Every conceivable surface is littered with trophies and medals.

Anya storms in, the door banging off the wall. “Quit moping.”

Lexa pulls the covers further over her head. “I’m not moping.”

“Oh? You look like you’re trapped in a room full of phones that can only receive calls from telemarketers.”

Lexa throws the cover off her face and glares meaningfully at Anya.

Anya smirks. “That’s what I thought.” She sits on the edge of the bed as Lexa wipes sleep from her eyes. “Still planning on going to the Olympics?”

“No.” She groans. “I have too many telemarketers I must speak with. It’s urgent really. I am eligible for 50 pounds of beef jerky. And if I sign up for a credit card now I get the box of chocolates too.”

Anya drops a tablet on her stomach. “Smartass. Listen, I wanted to give you some time to heal. But time is up. Read that. IVA made an announcement yesterday.” She stands briskly and stomps out of the room, all of Lexa medal’s shaking on the shelves with each step. Just as she goes to shut the door Anya says “She made her choice. Now make yours.”

Lexa sits up and unlocks the tablet. There are several open windows. The first is a memo from the International Volleyball Association.

* * *

 

 

 

 

> International Volleyball Association (IVA) in Concordance with the Olympic Federation
> 
> Subject: Eligibility Requirements
> 
> FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
> 
> Dear Athletes,
> 
> Just as with every other Olympic year, bids to the games will be earned through ranking points based on placement in IVA sponsored events with 1st receiving 3 points, 2nd 2 points, 3rd receiving 1 point. Those with # 1 ranking in their respective countries at the end of tournament season will automatically receive a bid to the Olympics. Teams ranked 2nd through 10th will have the opportunity to fill their countries’ quota of 2 teams per gender in their national qualifiers next May. However, there has been in a change in eligibility requirements. In order to be considered for the qualifiers teams must compete in 17 of 18 IVA sanctioned tournaments. This differs from the previous requirement of 12. As of right now there are 16 tournament weekends left to earn ranking points not including the tournaments taking place this weekend and concluding tomorrow. Winter tournaments are considered exhibition and as such they are not sanctioned. Please keep this new requirement in mind when scheduling. With this change we hope to foster further integrity and exceptional candidates within the sport.  Thank you for consideration.
> 
> Best Wishes,
> 
> Ilene Houkin
> 
> President, International Volleyball Association

* * *

Lexa lets out a huff. The tablet twists on her lap with the exhalation. Anya’s right. She doesn’t have time to mope. She has to find a partner and start competing again.

Just the thought is daunting. Who would she pick? Is there anyone left?

Lexa closes the tab with the IVA memo.

The next tab is an article for the Ocean City Gazette dated from this morning.

 

 

 

> The Prodigal Daughter Returns
> 
> Lexa Woods, daughter of Ocean City’s only celebrities, Gayle and Jason Woods, has returned after several months of training on the west coast. She and her teammate have called it quits.
> 
> They must have put something in the water in San Diego. With Woods and Griffin split, that’s two teams that have disbanded since the Sun and Sand Classic last weekend.
> 
> It was no surprise to experts that Griffin and Woods didn’t make it out intact. Although both players are phenomenal they’re tumultuous history was bound to bite them back sooner or later. They have collapsed under the pressure in a matter of days. After a stunning debut, the rest of the tournament was plague with missed volleys and obvious miscommunication. Their coach, Gustus Plinkov, announced the separation last Monday.
> 
> The winners of the tournament, Deboy and Parsons, announced that they too would be seeking new partners. The teammates have been together for almost a decade, starting the junior circuit together when they were just 16. Although never cracking the top ten internationally they have had domestic success remaining in the top 5 consistently over the last few years.
> 
> The separation of these two teams comes on the heel of an announcement by the IVA. Players wishing to compete in the Olympics must participate in additional tournaments, with all four missing this weekend’s tournament, they will have to compete in every other tournament weekend from now until the end of the season, leaving no room for the recently divided teams to wait on picking partners.
> 
>  
> 
> Update:
> 
> Griffin and Deboy must have come to that exact conclusion as they have officially announced their partnership as of this morning. More on that as it becomes available.

* * *

It feels like a kick to the stomach.  It feels like it had all been a lie. Clarke didn’t care about her. She only cared about titles and winning. She can feel the heat and the competition that she had once felt come bubbling up. Like in the very beginning of their partnership, when they had still hated each other and Lexa had wanted nothing but to put Clarke in her place. Lexa could feel her nostrils flare.

Charades.

Clarke had played her like a fiddle.

She sees the picture of the two new partners. Deboy towering over everyone, a menacing smile on her face. Clarke at least had the decency to look slightly ashamed. Partnering with such a homophobe meant either this had been Clarke’s plan all along and she’d strung Lexa along just to further the humiliation or Clarke was desperate. Lexa was not sure which hurt more. Both left her with a fury she could barely contain.

She presses the x on the window so hard she thinks the screen might crack.

The final window is an open email.

 

 

 

> Dear Lexa,
> 
> I’m sure you’ve heard the news by now about Clarke and Lindsay. I’m not sure what to do, but I thought I’d at least extend a hand in case you wanted to partner too. I know that Mr. Plinkov is going to continue coaching Clarke and by default Lindsay. My coach opted not to stay on so even if you don’t want to partner with me I was hoping you can at least help me get in touch with a coach or someone else. I don’t care if I go to the Olympics. I just want to keep playing. Give me a call if you want. 717-555-0808 Or send a message.
> 
> Take care,
> 
> Audra Parsons

* * *

Lexa is immediately lost in thought, weighing the options, the pros and cons. She thought maybe she wanted to give up. But now there is a fire inside of her. She’s not sure what the fire wants to consume she just knows it does.

She clicks out a quick message and hits send just as a floorboard in the hallway creaks. “Anya.” Lexa blows her hair out of her face with a quick puff between lips. “You don’t have to hide in the hallway anymore. I’m done.”

Anya opens the door. “And?”

“And. I told Parsons I was interested.”

Anya nods succinctly. “Good. Now let’s discuss coaching options.”

“I have none.” She kicks the covers off and begins to pull on a sweat shirt. She looks at herself in the wood-framed mirror. Besides pictures of the spice girls and backstreet boy clinging to the frame, she sees Anya staring back at her from the bed. A thought blossoms quickly. She turns to Anya in the blink of an eye. “Unless you want to do it!”

Anya smirks. “I’d be happy to help, but I had someone else in mind. I met this guy in my travels through Europe. He recognized me. Said he used to coach a national team. Don’t remember which country. He owns a Gym in berlin now. But he talked about coaching like he missed it. It’s a long shot, but I can try. In the meantime, I can coach you and Audra.”

For the first time in a week a smile etches itself across Lexa’s face.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make a post on my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paintthebrain) with what Audra and Lindsay look like in my head, but thus far it is an epic fail. Keep checking if you want to see if i ever figure it out.  
> As always thanks for being here! I love writing and I love it even more when I find people like you. Have a glorious day, my majestic marlins!
> 
> Update: I think I figured out the Tumblr post.  
> [Maybe](https://paintthebrain.tumblr.com/post/171077162796/lindsay-deboy-and-audra-parsons)


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! REAL TALK: The feedback I received on the last chapter is some of the best I have ever received and I'm not just talking about the praise (though I am eternally grateful for your kind words), I'm talking about the WTF, NOOOOOOO, HOW WILL YOU FIX THIS. This is meaningful to me because, as a writer, I struggle a lot with the "reader experience". I get stuck on tiny details or accidentally write a 3 - 5 page thesis on character motivations and can't visualize what you might be interpreting. This medium (fanfiction) has helped me immensely because it is instant feedback on the reader's experience. Your WTF, NOOOO, HOW WILL YOU FIX THIS let me know that my plot points are coming across as I intend them to be. In this case, we are at the ALL IS LOST part of the story structure. The thing that triggers true character growth. Like obi wan's death in the original star wars.  
> All is not really lost. Lexa is hurt and that is feeding her anger. It may seem like she sees the worst in Clarke, but no, she jumped to the worst possible conclusion that the situation could offer. Our precious puppy also has a temper. She loses rational thought when she is feeling a particularly intense feeling. Whereas, Clarke is a little bit bananas when she is feeling too many feelings at once. I liked the idea of how that plays off the other. Like since Lexa can maintain control over most of her emotions, she can be the pilot for both of their moods most of the time. And Clarke relies on that, subconsciously. But what happens when Lexa is feeling a powerful singular emotion and Clarke is a bit bananas because she has all these FEELINGS and wait where did Lexa go to help her organize those feelings? Oh yeah she pushed her away because she didn’t feel worthy of her. Clarke has a major reality distortion about her self-worth. Because she’s invested most of it in Volleyball. Becoming a champion. She uses it as a crutch to hide from her weaknesses and negative feelings instead of confronting them and growing as a person. And then Lexa came along and suddenly Clarke had to examine all these things she’s ignored for so long, plus combat the guilt she feels for Raven. But even that she uses as a crutch. I love writing. But I also love thinking about character dynamics and arcs and behaviors. Perhaps that has something to do with my other non-writing job. Anywho, if you’re ever concerned or have any questions of any sort, send them my way. I probs have a 3 - 5 page thesis on it.
> 
> I’m so completely and utterly grateful to all of you and I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to express to you, my majestic marlins, what you mean to me. Maybe someday, if I can manage to turn this into a novel (like this notes section has become a novel. Sorry. Not Sorry. I have a lot of FEEELINGS), I can put a nod to you all in the acknowledgement section. A HUGE SMILEY FACE TO YOU, YOU INCREDIBLE HUMANS!
> 
> And without further ado, my literary attempt to create a SPORTS MONTAGE!

“Are you sure this is what you want, princess?” Gustus bristles as he picks up a ball and begins to prepare their drills. Gustus hates Deboy. Clarke suspects it’s for the same reason she does 1. She’s a homophobic piece of shit. 2. She’s not Lexa.

Clarke puts her hands on her hips and watches as Deboy unfolds her tall, muscular frame from her sit-ups. It stirs something in her. But not what Lexa once did. Not the dizzying sensation that could make her trip over herself and fall off a treadmill, maybe throw up all over one in disgust. It feels like revulsion. She hates herself a little for agreeing to this.

But what’s a little more self-loathing? She has enough to go around in spades.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“There is always choice, yes? You could fix things with Watergun maybe?” Gustus wipes the sand off the ball, his chin dipping, his eyes forward.

“She hates me.”

“Ah, yes. Well.” He tucks the ball under his arm and gives her a strong pat on the back with his free hand. “She spent most of your relationship thinking that you hated her, but selflessly loving you anyway.” He steps forward and takes a deep breath as he prepares to yell at her new partner. “Two hundred more up downs, Jolly Mean Giant!”

She hates this even though watching Deboy cringe at the new workout regimen gives her a small sense of satisfaction.

Volleyball is all she knows. It is what she is. She has to keep going. Otherwise losing Lexa will have been for nothing.

“ _It was. It was all for nothing.”_ Her heart says.

* * *

 

> AVP.COM
> 
> Monday June 18th
> 
> What a glorious sunny weekend for volleyball in the Northern Tier. Unfortunately, several teams ate the celebratory shrimp on Friday leaving them indisposed for the rest of the weekend and they missed out on the weather while being under the weather. The unlikely victors, the pair of Sanders and Murray, came out on top with their iron stomachs and hard hitting style. Parsons and Woods managed to make it to round two before being soundly defeated by the #7 international rank team from Canada. That team however was taken out by another round of food poisoning on Saturday. This time the soup was the suspected culprit. Griffin and Deboy finished dead last again.  Anyway, what happens in Maine stays in Maine for at least 24 hours (or until the virus passes). Congratulations to Sanders and Murray who haven’t won a tournament in nearly 3 years.
> 
> In related news, the Olympic Federation has made a decision regarding ranking points and the unique situation between Woods, Deboy, Griffin, and Parsons. Since the initial team of Parsons/Deboy were originally awarded 3 ranking points for their showing in the Sun and Sand Classic, and Griffin/Woods were awarded 2 ranking points for their second place finish, the governing body of Olympic sports has decided to average the total leaving each team with a 2.5 as they continue to fight for a top 10 spot.

* * *

Another tournament down. 13 left. Another week of training. Lexa sits upright for a moment. She presses her toes down into the sand. The action reminds her of Clarke. The memory aches like an over worked muscle. Used and abused. Sharp waves of anger hit her. She shakes it off and lays back down to continue her crunches. Audra is lying next to her squeaking out her reps with a funny little whine.

Lexa doesn’t mean to find it annoying. Doesn’t mean to keep Audra at a distance. She’s a good enough person, but Lexa can’t let go of the dark mood she’s been in. She knows it’s not healthy to hold on to her anger. When she doesn’t quickly deal with her feelings, people get hurt. But she’s already hurting and holding on to her anger feels like the only thing she can do.

She knows her playing is a bit more unhinged. More than it’s ever been. Even in the moment she was so frustrated with Clarke’s skill she recklessly sent a spike at Raven.

Her parents are speaking to her again. Which is fine.

She wonders when she stopped doing things for her parent’s approval. No more trophies for the sake of trophies. The more Lexa grows, the more she realizes why Charades was the go-to family game.

Her parents were always pretty good at pretending. Playing the perfect couple for the cameras. Behind closed doors though, they hardly ever spoke to each other unless it was about the next trophy, the next award, the next appearance, or their children.

 Lexa refused to have a relationship like that.

 Volleyball had always felt like an inevitability. Something she was trained to do. She had to do. A reflex. There was a time when it felt good. The only validation she needed was her father’s stern nod from the side line. There was no greater thrill than to live up to her parent’s expectation.

Falling for Clarke had felt like an inevitability too.

Because Clarke was love beyond convenience, beyond common goals. Clarke was a _life_ partner not a business partner. Lexa couldn’t settle for anything less than that. Anything less than a best friend who she could share everything with – Lust. Love. Life.

She did fall in love with her best friend.

But it didn’t matter anyway.

Lexa finishes her set and sits up watching the brackish water hit the sand bar. Ocean city’s beaches are nothing like the west coast. The waves are calmer, the sand grittier. Coarse and unrefined.

 Anya strolls up and sits between Lexa and Audra. She offers Lexa a bottle of water and a towel to Audra as they finish their abdominal workout.

“Your new coach should be here any minute.”

Audra fist pumps into the air and her neatly woven braids sway with the motion.

Lexa clenches her jaw. A chuckle forms despite herself.

Audra sends a sympathetic smile Lexa’s way.

“Lexa.” Audra states very plainly. “Be excited. This might be the edge we need.” Despite Lexa’s sour mood, Audra has been unwavering in kindness and patience. She hasn’t flirted with Lexa. Not since the second night of the tournament a month ago. Maybe they have a chance at friendship, if Lexa can remember how do something other than scowl.

Lexa turns to her. “I am excited. It just takes a lot to make me jump for joy.” She instantly flashes back to that morning before finals in San Diego. Not really. Not if Clarke is the one asking.

That morning seems so far away now.

* * *

 

> **Salters** : Lisa Salters and Brian MacNamara here with the E:60 breakdown. The best stories in the wide world of sports in 60 seconds.
> 
> **MacNamara** : With warm weather in full swing, so are the Boys of Summer. The Mets are leading all teams in the homerun race, racking up 22 already. 12 of those going to their second baseman Daniel Murphy.
> 
> **Salters** : FIFA president Joseph “Sepp” Blatter announces his resignation just days after being reelected for a fifth term on the reigning body of international soccer. His 17 years as president have been fraught with allegations of corruption and accusations of accepting bribes from countries bidding for the world cup to take place on their home turfs. Other members of FIFA are distancing themselves from Blatter stating that “he committed these crimes against the integrity of the sport on his own accord.” There is an on-going investigation. We’ll keep you updated as more becomes available.
> 
> **MacNamara** : Speaking of shake ups, let’s take a look at Women’s beach volleyball. With multiple IVA sanctioned tournaments happening every weekend, there’s been plenty of opportunity for competition. The seventh weekend of tournaments reached its conclusion yesterday. So far there are no front runners in domestic completion. The split of the two strongest teams competing state-side have left the field wide open. Woods/Parsons and Griffin/Deboy have yet to make it passed the second round since forming.
> 
> **Salters** : Across the pond, Peyton and Stermer have racked up 16 ranking points confirming expert speculation about their Olympic aspirations. Other American teams are facing off against some of the world’s best in South America. The top 2 internationally ranked teams of Antunes/Franca and Muirelles/Fernandez, both of Brazil, make it hard for any other teams to earn more than 1 ranking point per weekend on that circuit.
> 
> **MacNamara** : And that’s sports in 60. Join us after the break for a special interview with the chief financial officer of the San Jose Sharks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've said it a million times and I'll say it a million more: THANKS FOR BEING HERE!


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I answer the question “How many wlw pairings can you fit in one chapter?”
> 
> Clarke finally starts to self reflect. And Lexa wants to hulk smash everybody, until she hurts someone else and her new coach has to step in and throw down some wisdom.
> 
> Spoiler alert: It might have been wisdom we've heard somewhere else before.

 

 

 

Clarke stands at the open doorway. Lexa’s room is stripped of most of the things that made it Lexa’s except for an empty cup of boardwalk fries.

Deboy had been given a guest room on the first floor of the mansion.

Clarke hadn’t found the courage to go in here sooner. It’s taken her 8 weeks to confront the moments they made here. To remember what it felt like to hold Lexa in her arms.

She remembers the weakness. What she thought at the time was weakness. Now she doesn't seem so sure.

All those moments. The moments in her life. The moments before Lexa. Volleyball. The things she defined as good and worthy were there to hide the fact that she felt unworthy. She could dig a volleyball, but she couldn’t communicate what she felt. That is starting to seem more like a weakness than falling in love. 

Maybe her ability to love Lexa the way that she loved her, may have comprised the strongest parts of Clarke.

She’s about to go further in, punish herself for all things she got wrong. Her weaknesses. But her pocket rings.

“Hello.” Clarke takes a step back, away from the room.

“Clarke?’

Clarke can hear the tears in Raven’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve worked so hard.”

Clarke waits.

“The doctors…they changed their minds. The vertebra that was shattered….it deteriorated more. There isn’t enough to support me after all.”

Clarke’s heart drops. “You won’t be able to walk.” Raven has taken so much. Life has thrown her punch after punch. But still, she remains strong. The quaver in her voice is the least resilient Clarke has ever seen her. “Are you at your place? I can be there in 20 minutes.”

“You have a tournament tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Raven releases a broken laugh. “Who are you?”

“Good question. I’m not really sure anymore.” Clarke returns the laughter shakily.

There is a scrape against the phone and Clarke knows Raven is nodding. Resigning herself to something.

“I can come there and help you find out,” Raven says.

“I would greatly appreciate that,” Clarke says, voice filling with emotion.

* * *

 

 

> AVP.com
> 
> Midseason update
> 
> 9 weeks down and 9 to go. After an early slump, teams have made a rather spectacular dash for that top spot. However, with Peyton and Stermer holding steadily in the top 10 internationally and receiving the most ranking points so far domestically, they are likely to take the top bid to the Olympics. Leaving a scramble for the 2nd through 10th spots with the 2nd ranking receiving an automatic entry to the second round of qualifiers in May. Also, as we’ve reported before, in a new precedent, representatives for the IVA and Olympic federation have decided on a fair way to assign ranking points to Griffin and Deboy and Woods and Parsons, leaving them with the first ever .5 ranking point in the history of the sport.
> 
> International Rankings
> 
> (ties are given to the most winning team. Two first place wins and one second place win is given a higher rank then four 2nd place wins by one team.)
> 
>   1. Antunes/Franca [BRZ] 24
>   2. Muirelles/Fernandez [BRZ] 22
>   3. Peyton/Stermer[USA] 20
>   4. Heinlin/ Hubert [GER]17
>   5. Earp/Haught [CAN] 16
>   6. Lovegood/Granger [ENG]16
>   7. Ludwig/Walkenhorst [GER] 14
>   8. Estrella/ Del Rio [ARG] 14
>   9. Carnstein/Hollis [CAN] 14
>   10. Noonan/Perk [USA] 13
> 

> 
> Domestic Rankings
> 
> Rank/ Team/ Ranking points received

  1. > Peyton/Stermer 20

  2. > Noonan/Perk 13

  3. > Beverley/LaClair 12

  4. > Marks/Caplan 12

  5. > Dean/ Noru 11

  6. > Lance/Sharpe 10

  7. > Lopez/ B.S. Pierce 9

  8. > Danvers/ Sawyer 9

  9. > Choi/ A. Pierce 9

  10. > Chapman/Vause 8

  11. > Bollinger/Sherriff 7

  12. > Dennis/Lewis 7

  13. > Cormier/ Niehaus 5

  14. > Parsons/Woods 4.5

  15. > Carlin/Davies 4

  16. > Sanders/Murray 3

  17. > Deboy/Griffin 2.5

  18. > Jackson/Fenix 2

  19. > Beagle/Mickiewicz 2

  20. > Atwater/Green 1




* * *

The net trembles with the impact of a failed spike. The air is instantly filled with a childish screech as Deboy lashes out in frustration. Sand is sprayed everywhere, kicked in every direction. Clarke watches with uneasiness in her gut.

It’s been hard. Working with Deboy is an unending test in patience. And, well, patience is not something Clarke is good at.

And neither is Gustus. He’s immediately up in Deboy’s personal space telling her to chill the fuck out in his own Gustus way. Indra pulls them apart and glares at both with her stern, shadowy stare. Raven watches from her chair, shaking her head disapprovingly.

Deboy huffs and sets up at the net again.

The hardest part isn’t their chemistry or lack thereof. The hardest part isn’t trying to be patient. Or listening to the homophobia. The hardest part for Clarke is watching Deboy’s temper tantrums and utter lack of civility and seeing herself reflected in them.

It’s tempered her. Forced her to look at who she really is. And come to terms with the fact that she has been doing that her whole life.

The last couple months have brought a couple things to light: 1. Clarke doesn’t like who she is, has never really liked who she is. 2. Clarke has spent years trying to hide those feelings of inadequacy behind her talents as a volleyball player.

Gustus paces beside Clarke. His body quivering with frustration. “You know I would do anything for you, yes?”

“I know.”

“I am not sure how much longer I can do this, princess.”

Clarke’s chin dips to her chest. “I know.” She doesn’t know how much longer she can hold on either. Or if she even should.

* * *

Lexa works her way across the sand, her teeth grinding as the crowd quiets. Their opponents are poised on the other side of the net. She can feel her restraint slipping. She has so little of it anymore. She just doesn’t see the point.

Her whole life she has worked hard to reign herself in, with Clarke, with Raven, all the injuries. To fit herself into a box that her parents wanted her to be in. She has a gold and silver medal. And nothing else to show for it.

Their opponents have been needling her with trash talk throughout the match and Lexa feels close to snapping.

Part of her wants to.

Part of her is garroted.

Gutted.

And unsure.

She held back for so long and now it feels like she should set it all free.

She knows it’s not the right thing to do. That it leads to nothing good. But now she knows, neither does holding back.

She feels Audra set up behind her as the other team prepares to serve.

Lexa’s coach stares back at her with perceptive eyes. She doesn’t know much about him, even though they’ve spent a month and a half together. He doesn’t say much. But she’s has a sneaking suspicious that he sees everything.

The referee raises his hand and then blows the whistle.

Lexa feels little pieces of her begin to boil with her opponent’s asinine smirk. She needs to reign it in. To control and manipulate. Not be controlled and manipulated.

She’s standing face to face with this idiot, only the net, between them. Another whistle blows as the ref drops his hand. The volley begins.

The second the ball comes near her she jams it down, smacking the smirk off her opponent’s face. A thick whack resonates before small drops of blood fall from her opponent's nose.

* * *

Clarke dips her toes into the surf, feeling the waves rinse away the day’s work. A hard fought run for this past weekend’s tournament has left her feeling a little drained. They have won a couple of matches, but have yet to place in any tournaments.

She can’t remember why she’s doing this.

Volleyball.

She can’t remember why it used to feel good.

There’s just a hole now and she doesn’t know what to fill it with. Maybe the hole has always been there, but she’s just forced to notice it now. Forced to think who she is without volleyball.

The waves lap again. Kissing her calves and bringing with them a layer of brine. Gone is the grit. But now a fine deposit of salt has been left behind, she can’t see it, but she can feel it.

The waves recede and the sun begins to dry their caresses. The thin layer of salt water begins to stretch across her skin, pulling it tight. Withering it.

Raven pulls into the sand beside her.

Gustus naturally took to Raven’s sass and hired her as a technical assistant. Raven resilience and ingenuity is her greatest strength.

Clarke’s been doing that a lot lately, taking stock of people’s strengths. Trying to find her own beyond dig, set, spike.

“I was thinking about the future.” Another strong wave comes in covering her feet “I don’t know if I want to continue.”

Gustus shifts and presses a toe toward the water. “Do not let the idiot giant get to you. If you want to keep playing, then keep playing.”

Raven wheels her chair closer to Clarke, leaning forward enough to take her hand. “Or

“It doesn’t feel good anymore.”

He nods again. “What would make it feel good?”

Instantly images of curly brown hair and green eyes flash in her mind. “I don’t deserve it.” She glances to the side. Gustus and Raven are both staring out into the ocean “Her.”

Gustus clucks his tongue. “Cold cow.” He ducks to Raven’s height and points a thumb back at Clarke. “Always so slow. Everyone is worthy of love.”

Raven snorts. “Even Deboy?”

“She can’t be all bad.” Clarke hopes the words are true. For Deboy and for herself.

* * *

It’s late.

Lexa reclines in a beach chair listening to the waves hit the shore. Above her a silent light show plays out courteous of the recently passed storm.

They had arrived back from the tournament in the midst of a torrential downpour. Now the far away flashes are all that remain. Lexa finds it soothing. A perfect metaphor for the person she’s been lately.

She hears footsteps and then the sound of another beach chair being opened and plunked into the sand beside her.

Lexa turns her head like a door creaking open and squints into the darkness beside her. “Coach Burya?”

“That is my name.” He simply sits and watches the silent lightning dance through the clouds.

Lexa likes him a lot. He’s quiet. Uses his words carefully. In an accent that is both familiar and also unlike any accent she’s ever heard before. An amalgamation of languages. He’s still a bit of a mystery to Lexa. She knows that he is patient when coaching and prefers to use gestures to teach instead of words. He speaks Russian, German, and English fluently. Anya said he owned a gym, but took time off to come here.

They have had very few conversations. Very few words exchanged at all beyond what drills to execute, what strategies to employ. But Lexa really likes him regardless of all that.

They sit in silence for a time. The light growing less effulgent with each passing second.

The tide recedes and it grows eerily quiet. Only the skittering of crabs across the newly revealed stretches of sand can be heard.

“You played well.”

Lexa is not sure which stuns her more, the intrusion of the voice or the compliment the voice gives.

She doesn’t know how to respond. A polite thank you is what she manages.

He acknowledges her with a nod but seems to chew on his next words. Holding onto them until they are perfectly formed.

“Why are you so angry?”

Of all the words he could have uttered, Lexa did not expect those. She wants to deny it. Pretend that what he says is not true. But she knows they are. He’s been to the same tournaments as Lexa. He’s seen her play. He was there to watch Lexa guiltily hold a towel to her opponent’s nose as it bled.

It’s the first real question he’s asked her so she feels compelled to answer honestly.

“I’m angry for believing in something that wasn’t true.”

He nods nearly imperceptivity, almost like he knew the answer the whole time and was just waiting on Lexa to reveal the truth. “Your partner, not Audra, the one before her. Clarke.”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think it was not true?”

Lexa scoffs. “We aren’t together are we?”

Again he nods that omniscient nod. “Did you love her?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still?”

Lexa can’t find it right now, the love she has for Clarke. It’s hidden behind anger and frustration and hurt. “I’m just so mad at her.”

“Why?”

“Because…” We had it all and she ran from it. I worked so hard. I believed. And all Clarke did was try. “She didn’t believe.”

Coach Burya leans in and tugs at the arm of Lexa’s chair shaking it slightly. “I had a love like that once.”

“Like what?”

“Finding the right person at the wrong time. It is incredibly frustrating.” He stops swaying their chairs back and forth and smiles at her. “I had never been so angry in all my life.” He settles more firmly in his chair and gives Lexa a pat on her back. “But there are somethings we must never forget.”

Lexa looks to him. His red hair is a soft flickering orange in the lights. His chin, covered in a deeper auburn beard cut close to his face, shifts side to side as he considers his words again.

“Like what?” She asks.

“You are strong.” He sighs, remembering something Lexa is not privy to. “And anger is weakness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to put the wide eyes emoji but I can’t figure out how to do that so just imagine about 42 wide eyes emojis here.
> 
> Did you figure it out?
> 
> Anyway, Lexa, I get it. Loving someone who is perfect for you but is not prepared to love you back is literally one of the most aggravating things in life. Listen to Burya. 
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. If you haven't figured it out yet, may I suggest you reread chapter 17.  
> Also Burya is the English spelling of the Russian word for storm. :)  
> And there was a reason that conversation took place after a passing storm.  
> Symbolism and hidden meanings are my favorite food. Nom nom nom. I'll eat em up everytime.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for being here! You are candy coated rainbows and I adore you all!  
> May you all fall in love with someone who loves themselves.


End file.
